


Breaking the Fourth Wall

by Trixy_BuenaSuerte



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animus Shenanigans, Apple of Eden, Bleeding Effect, Canonical Character Death, Codex Pages (Assassin's Creed), Dimension Travel, Eagle Vision (Assassin's Creed), F/M, Fix-It, For the whole Series, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Meddling Gods, Pieces of Eden, Reality meets Fiction, Spoilers, The Animus (Assassin's Creed), Time Paradoxes, Time Travel, Video Game Logic, of sorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 128,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2387762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixy_BuenaSuerte/pseuds/Trixy_BuenaSuerte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a chance I can't pass up. A chance to save so many lives from grief (Malik) and suffering (Ezio) and death (Desmond). A chance to rewrite the story the way I would have written it. A chance, an opportunity, a gift, one I'm not about to waste. Here's to wishing me good luck!</p><p>Mom, Dad, I'm going on an adventure.</p><p>— Jennifer</p><p> <em> P.S. I'm taking Kenny with me.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This will mostly be based on the book (Yes, there is a book).
> 
> _"Assassin's Creed: The Secret Crusade by Oliver Bowden"_
> 
> **Now Beta-ed by:**  
>  [Macadamians](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Macadamians/pseuds/Macadamians)

"Epona!"

The cry is loud and unexpected after the constant  _clip-clop_  of hoofed feet on dirt and Desmond almost loses synchronization as he starts. After days with only a horse for company, can you blame him? He's currently in the animus, experiencing the tedious one week trip from Acre to Masyaf and he's so damn close to yanking his hair out in boredom.

He hates the damn trip to and from the cities more than when he's being chased by Templars and guards or when he has to wait around in his room for Vidic to decided it's time for him to go back into the animus. It's like its own form of torture and he wonders if they're making him relive the trips on purpose.

Maybe if he stopped mouthing off to Vidic he'd be allowed to skip these parts of Altaïr's memories?

It's not so much that he has to spend one week—sometimes more—traveling that he hates, but that he spends the one week alone. Even though he's reliving Altaïr's memories, the Assassin's thoughts are cut off from him. Sure, he can see, hear, and smell—fucking  _smell_ —everything Altaïr can but he can't relive the man's thoughts. Which is kind of odd if you ask him, I mean, the animus makes him relive everything except that?

I guess not even millions of dollars and a high-tech machine can make you a mind reader.

Everything else is as clear as day though; he can feel Altaïr's annoyance when he becomes exposed, can hear the shouts of all the citizens as they scream in panic, and can smell some of the ones that desperately need a bath. It makes him wonder though; couldn't they have left that one out? Hell, the smell of horse is so strong that he's been smelling it in his sleep!

 _But that could be the bleeding effect_ _…_

The horse stopping rather abruptly draws his attention back to Altaïr's memories and, as he tries to spot what has caused such a sudden stop, he gets hit with an overwhelming sense of curiosity from the Assassin. It has an underlying trace of irritation though and when Desmond spots two figures standing at the entrance to Masyaf gates he realizes that he's arrived at his destination.

One of the figures shoots forward and into the last rays of the dying sun as he climbs down from the horse—a black one with bits of white—a few feet away from them. It's a girl and she's a petite, small thing but when she comes into focus Desmond can't look away. She's big green eyes hidden behind thick black glasses and pouty pink lips with endless locks of brown hair that fall in loose curls down her back and yet she looks odd.

Her features too sharp, too real.

She doesn't look like a memory—Desmond can  _see_ the texture to her skin and clothing unlike the smooth surface of all the other objects in Altaïr's memories and he knows that if he reaches out he'll be able to feel the softness of her cheek. Something's not right, Desmond knows it— _can feel it_ —but there's not much he can do about it without losing synchronization so instead he settles for unsaddling his horse just as the girl reaches them—reaches Altaïr.

"Oh, how mommy's missed you! How's my baby doing, huh? Did the mean old Assassin treat you well?"

Desmond starts and loses a bar of synchronization as the girl's words reach his ears. He's never heard anyone talk like that in this year and he watches, confused, as the girl all but shoves him—Altaïr—aside in her haste to get to the now softly nickering horse. How is she not afraid of the lethal Assassin even while knowing what he is? She throws her arms around the horse and it's only then that Desmond realizes she's wearing a sweater.

Not just any sweater but one with a zipper  _and a fucking Batman symbol on the front_.

It's not right, not logical but all Desmond does is watch and wonder if the bleeding effect has finally gotten to him.

"I thought I told you to wait for me at home."

_Home? Does Altaïr_ _live with her?_

The girl ignores Altaïr's words and shrugs off a bright turquoise backpack Desmond just realizes she's carrying. He briefly spots the logo  _Jansport_ as the girl unzips her bag and pulls out a small bundle of carrots.

"No, you said to wait until you got back and you have," the girl says as she feeds the horse. "Besides, I wanted to make sure Epona was okay," she mumbles and Desmond eyebrows draw together in confusion at the name. He's so fucking sure that's not a common name in the twelfth century, pet or no. It's not Arabic, English maybe but certainly not Arabic.

"Jennifer."

Now that is certainly English.

"Oh calm down, it's not like we've been here long. We only just came through, besides Mother and Father want to know if you'll be joining us for movie night. We're watching Shutter Island." the girl chirps and this time Desmond can't keep himself synchronized.

He shoots up in utter surprise, shattering the glass screen of the animus as his head collides with it while he gasps for breath. Blood trails from various scratches on his face but he ignores them as he rolls off the animus and scuttles across the room. He can hear Vidic and Lucy yelling over his gasps but can't reply because he's still mentally stuck in Masyaf 1191, still looking down at the petite, brown-haired girl with the too big glasses resting on her tiny nose.

"Jennifer."

He's still stuck on Jennifer and movie nights in Masyaf, 1191.

_What the fuck!?_

 


	2. Ch 1

 

I can't help but stare at the computer, eyes wide, blank as my thoughts are a million miles away. The bright screen lights my face, illuminating the pitch black room but only by a little. My eyes are locked on the green words on the screen without really seeing them as my mind races a mile a minute at the prospect of what I would do if this were ever to be real.

" _If you could bring one video game character to life, who would you choose?"_

Ah, video games, I loved them with a passion though, between you and me, I suck horribly at them. I can't count the number of times I've fallen off ledges while playing _Batman_ or _Sonic._ Complete and utter failure, I am. But I just love the thrill, the excitement of just barely outliving the next boss.

The cold sweat I'm left in while I cry in triumph as I finally defeat the huge ghost monster in _Sonic Adventures II._ Or the racing heart and sweating palms as I try gear myself up to go again after another failure, to try to finally defeat that giant centipede in _Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker._

The adrenaline rush is addictive and I'm hopelessly hooked. Hell, I have the controller of my PS3 resting besides me even as said object is turned off because one never knows when the inspiration to play will hit and I don't want to be stuck looking for the controller. The remote for my Nintendo Wii sits next to my TV right by my Nintendo DS and PSP where I can keep an eye on them in case they feel like going _'poof'_.

I'm a nut case, I know.

I blame my brother.

He was the one that got me hooked but, unlike him, everything I have, every video game and console was bought with money I worked for while my parents bought him his. Why? Because girls should play with Barbies and not game consoles. Even my Plasma Television was bought with my blood, sweat, and tears but that's more because I wanted the luxury to play on a wide-screen than my parents' refusal.

I'm sure that, if I would have asked them, they would have agreed—hell, Mother even offered once—but after so long of getting everything on my own it left a bad taste in my mouth to ask. Which reminds me, I need to get the latest _Batman_ and _Assassin's Creed_ soon but first and foremost, I need to finish _Assassin's Creed III_ and _Batman: Arkham City._

Ah, but the Xbox is busted so I can't finish _Batman_. By the looks of it, I might even have to start over because I might just get a new console. Either way, if I pay to get it fixed, all the memory will be wiped out.

I tap my fingers against the keyboard while I think about my choices, the words on the screen forgotten or at least they are until a sharp chime from my computer brings my attention back to them. I wince as I realize that I've accidentally pushed one too many buttons and the computer's protesting the mistreatment. With a blush I clear away the Error Message and once again my attention returns to the words on the screen.

Everything in me screams Batman and I have to physically stop myself from writing it in reply to the question because really, let's think about this. Batman, the super rich playboy that doesn't know anything but the rich life and fighting crime, in my world—supposing that I'm just bring him to life and not all his millions—it's a plan headed for disaster. What would I do if he decides to go around playing vigilante in my sweet little town?

If the cops got their hands on him they'd ship him to the loony bin in a straight jacket. No one's going to buy that he's Bruce Wayne because Bruce Wayne is nothing but a fictional character. So he's out and so is Sonic because, while it's all fun and games when he's just fictional, having a three-foot tall, blue, talking hedgehog running around will probably freak even me out.

Having a little Link—and by that I mean the one specifically from _Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker—_ running around would probably be fun but I really don't want to have to pay millions in broken pottery—assuming that I'll have to take responsibility of them which I probably will.

Mario?

He might end up killing my big brother's rare Leopard Tortoise, and I really don't need that. Nah, not Mario. Nobody from _Grand Theft Auto, Call of Duty,_ or _Halo_ either, that's for sure. Nathan Drake from _Uncharted_ sounds like a good pick but then he might have me following him on cave explorations.

Someone from _Gears of War_ might be a better choice. I could take them out of that horrible environment and they could spend the rest of their days in peace. Let's see, Baird? No, even if he's hot as hell, he's a narcissistic bastard and might even have me waiting on him hand and foot. Marcus? No, I feel like he'll be in turmoil over being in this fight free world while the rest of his men are fighting for their lives. Dom? Sam? Anya? Cole? No, no, no, and no. Everyone from _Fifa, Madden,_ and the like are already alive so that's an automatic no.

Oh!

I know! Joker!

…

…

Um, never mind, that's about as bad of an idea as Batman, if not worse. I don't want to end up in jail, mind you. Or strapped to some explosive or other crazy devices because he doesn't believe me when I tell him that Batman doesn't exist in this world. A choked laugh escapes me at the thought because it's only then that I realize that I'm actually thinking about this as if it would actually happen.

I always did have an overactive imagination.

With a sad shake of my head I close my laptop and stretch. As soon as the laptop is close I'm plunged into darkness and for a few seconds my old phobia comes back to haunt me before I flick the light on. As the light chases away the darkness I slip on some slippers and make my way to the kitchen.

A snack would be much appreciated right now but as I walk to the door my eyes catch the box of _Assassin's Creed_ lying innocently next to my PSP and the perfect answer hit's me.

_Altaïr._

I race back over to the laptop, opening it without a second thought. It flickers on instantly and I type in my answer quickly before shutting it close again. I leave then, padding my way to the kitchen as feelings of contentment swirl in me as I go. I can't stop a lazy smile from reaching my lips.

Though, all thoughts of video games and fictional character vanish from my mind as my stomach gives an angry growl. Shit, when was the last time I ate? When I came home earlier today maybe. Working the night shift sucks, especially since you seem to lose all track of time.

Thank god I have the weekends off.

I make sure to flick on lights as I go so that I won't be swallowed up by darkness and when I finally reach the kitchen I rummage through it without thought, pulling out all the things that look yummy. By the end of my rummaging the counter is full of so many things that I have to put more than half of it back while I decided just exactly what to make.

I settle on some hot dogs and chips while I go through the food, putting back what I don't need. With my food chosen I turn to grab the hot dog bread from the cupboards.

That's when I hear it.

It's a crash, a thump.

The sound of something large hit the tile floor and shattering, loud and yet oddly quiet. My heart starts a fast pace at the sound. With a deep breath I slowly turn to look behind me. The sound seems to have come from the living room and I walk over there quietly, making sure to press against the wall just in case it's an intruder though I'm sure it was just my family. They probably knocked something over while coming to get a glass of water. I mean, it is the middle of the night.

Unless…

The light attracted burglars.

I clutch the bread to my chest as I peek behind the wall into the living room. There's no one there, everything seems to be in its place as I skim my gaze over the Television and couches but when my eyes land on my mom's precious chandelier (or at least where it's supposed to be) my eyes widen. I quickly look towards the floor and gasp at the colorful glass that litters the floor along with what I'm sure are pieces of the ceiling.

Mom's going to have a cow.

I step slowly over the glass, bread still clutched to my chest, and look up at the ceiling. How in the hell? The chandelier's been up there for well over five years, how could it suddenly just come down like that? It took a huge chunk out of the ceiling too.

I snap my eyes to the one that hangs above the dining room table and give a relieved sigh when I find it still hanging from the ceiling in one piece. Well at least she won't have too big of a cow if that one's okay, right?

Especially since it's the prettier, more expensive one.

' _Crunch'_

My heart stops in my chest, ice-cold fear freezes the blood in my veins even while a little voice inside my head screams that I'm just overreacting. It's yelling that it's my mom or dad or big brother, trying to convince me that my overactive imagination is at it again, but I know that if it had been them they would have been shouting and asking what had happened before they could see the full extent of the damage.

Before they would have stepped on the _fucking_ glass.

I can feel eyes on my back as I glance at the front door—something I should have done first to make sure this was not a burglary—and find it locked. My eyebrows draw together in confusion. If this isn't a burglar than who is it?

Is someone trying to scare me?

Everyone knows I'm the most easily frighten person on the planet. Those sons of bitches! I turn, insults already on the tip of my tongue, hand clutching the bread raised to throw it at whoever's trying to scare me. Though, when I see who's behind me, the words die on my lips and the bread falls from my now limp hand. It's not my brother or any other family member for the matter.

It's a big, dangerous person dressed in white.

_(What an odd color to wear for a robbery.)_

Aw, fuck, we _are_ being robbed.

Fight or flight, it always comes down to that when you look potential danger in the face. So, as I stare at this hulking figure clad in white, no need to scream comes, no yell builds in my chest. The only reason being that screaming will only bring others—both my family and his group and I don't know how many burglars there are.

I don't give him a chance to make the first move as we stare each other down. I bolt, narrowly avoiding slipping on the glass, and race towards the door. My reaction must have taken him by surprised because it's not until I have the door open that he gives chase.

I race outside, feet pounding against the concrete loudly and I reach a hand out desperately to open the front gate just when I feel strong powerful arms wrap around my waist. I struggle against his hold and use my own momentum against him as he tries to hold on to me. I send us falling, skittering across Father's freshly trimmed grass in a jumble of arms and legs. Even with my escape ruined I don't scream, I can't bring myself to, and at this point I don't even know why anymore.

We wrestle against the grass until I end up panting heavily under him with my hands pinned beside my head by his and with his knees on both side of my thighs, holding them together and stopping my thrashing. Pants tumble from my lips as I tug helplessly at my arms but his hold doesn't budge. He's a strong one, I'll give him that. I glare at him as I continue to try to escape from his hold.

"What do you want?" I growl out at him. I can't see his face, it's hidden by the cowl of his white hood. The darkness also helps keep his face hidden. When I get no response, I strengthen my struggles but it makes no difference. So after few minutes of useless struggling I huff angrily, slumping into the grass while closing my eyes in defeat. I can feel myself trembling slightly, can feel the tremors wrack my frame but not from fear.

No, I won't give him that satisfaction.

I'm not getting out, he's too strong.

I just hope nothing happens to my family.

" _Who are you?"_

His voice is deep, rich, and my eyes snap open at the sound as heat trails down my spine.

_His voice is orgasmic._

No, bad girl, bad! You are so not getting all hot and bothered by your soon to be raper, murderer, and/or kidnapper—whichever it comes down to. I glare up at him, thrashing once more before turning my head away from him defiantly. No way in hell am I giving this sick bastard the pleasure of knowing my name.

A hand, cooled by the crisped night air, grasps my chin, tugging my face back to his while the other takes both of my hands and keeps them pinned above my head. I hold my glare, suppressing my flinch through stubbornness and fierce determination alone as his hand goes from my chin to my glasses—that have somehow managed to stay on. He runs his finger over the black frame without a word.

Oh dear lord, please don't tell me he has an eyeglass fetish.

While he studies my glasses I take the moment to study him back and stare in confusion as I take in his apparel, or as much if it as I can see. There's a belt around his waist that can seriously be mistaken for a waist clincher. Many leather straps wrap around his white tunic with swords and knives and just a whole arsenal of weapons hanging from them. And when I spot them my blood runs cold with a different type of fear than you would expect. I'm not afraid of the many possible ways this man could gut me but of what his attire means because I _know_ that look. I've spent many hours staring at it while controlling a completely fictional character in a fictional world.

This isn't a regular man above me.

This is an Assassin.

This is…

" _Alta_ _ï_ _r."_

Oh, someone is so getting their ass kicked for playing this kind of prank on me. I give an angry huff, muttering death threats under my breath, and, in doing so, I miss the way the figure above me tenses ever so slightly. I renew my struggles once I'm sure this is all some type of joke. Not thinking twice when I actually manage to slip one of my hands from his hold, I swing. When my fist connects with his chin, a satisfied smile reaches my lips. Taking advantage of his now stunned state, I buck him off completely and stand without a glance in his direction.

I bet every penny that I've been saving up to either buy or fix my Xbox that this is all my big brother's sick prank. I ignore the sound of my attacker rising and march into the house, expecting to see big brother laughing his ass off while holding a camera with all of his little friends laughing at my expense. Or hell, maybe even one of my uncles, but I find nothing but an empty living room and shattered glass.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand. I take a deep breath before turning back around to face my attacker. He stands a few feet behind me, a comfortable distance away with seemingly no intentions of making a grab for me again.

So if big brother isn't trying to pull one over on me than who is this guy and did _he_ break mom's chandelier? He's going to pay for that, he knows that right? Well, he's not being hostile anymore and it really doesn't look like a robbery.

Maybe he's a lost trick or treater? I mean, it's not Halloween but what else can it be? Unless, he's a cosplayer that got lost on his way to E3? Wait...E3 was weeks ago…who the fuck is he?

_Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad._

Yeah fucking right.

Well, this mess isn't going to clean itself, now is it? I huff and puff all the way to the kitchen, groaning as I grab the broom and dustpan from beside the refrigerator and a bag from under the sink. I fucking hate sweeping, _especially_ when it comes to a mess I didn't make.

With another huff I head back to the living room to find my… _guest,_ I guess you can say, standing by the front door. Funny, I would have thought he would have left already. Wait…why the fuck did I leave him alone…in my house... _after he probably broke in!_? And why haven't I called the cops to tell them about the strangely dressed man in my house?

Mom always did say I had a few loose screws…

Loose screws or not, what kind of burglar doesn't leave once they've been spotted? _And why the fuck am I cleaning his mess!_

At that thought I have to stop myself from throwing the broom at him or attacking him with it. Instead I continue sweeping until I'm sure I have all the glass and pieces of ceiling in a neat little pile. He continues to watch me, shoulders hunched in a little, head down. Just like that I can tell that he definitely broke mom's chandelier.

A cow.

Mom's going to have a cow.

"It's your mess, clean it the fuck up, _now_ ," I growl at him as I thrust the dustpan into his hands while pointing at the shattered glass. "You have no fucking clue just how expensive those shits are. Dad's going to have an aneurysm! And mom, God! You better fucking run before she gets her hands on you especially if you don't even have the decency to clean it up."

With another frustrate groan I turn and make my way back into the kitchen because there's nothing else I can do. I should probably wake Father to let him know but he had a long day at work and I would feel bad about waking him up for something like this. Especially since there's nothing he'll be able to do.

We'll need to call an electrician or the company that installed the chandelier to fix this. Well, fix the ceiling, there's no hope for the chandelier. It's totaled and standing here worrying over Mother's wrath won't change anything.

Besides, I have hot dogs with my name on them in the kitchen.

I picked up my abused bread with a huff from the floor as I make my way back to the counter where I left my other ingredients. I love hot dogs because, when cooked right, they can be absolutely delicious! Especially wrapped with bacon and topped with caramelized onions.

Damn, I'm salivating just thinking about. Unfortunately I don't exactly have the patience to caramelize onions right now. How can I after what just happened? Particularly since it seems the Chandelier Killer still seems to be hanging around.

_Why haven't I called the cops yet?_

He's standing at the doorway that separates the dining room and kitchen, a full plastic bag clutched in his hands. I motion to the garbage can without a word as I spread mayo on my hot dog buns.

' _My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hun.'_

Okay, ew, where the fuck did _that_ come from?

Even after he throws the bag full of glass away the Altaïr wannabe sticks around. I'm not sure how I can tell with the cowl covering his face but I know he's staring at my food. It's getting kind of awkward actually…does he want some? I mean, if he does he could just ask….

I'm going to have to feed him, aren't I?

Damn it.

I quickly set to work on another hotdog and try my best to ignore the fact that he's watching me rather closely as I prepare our plates.

_Why am I feeding him?_

Ah, because I was raised with manners.

Once the food is done I take both plates to the dining room, motioning for him to take a seat while I get something to drink. A coke sounds absolutely refreshing and I grab two from the fridge before heading back to the dining room and taking a seat across from my uninvited guest.

As I sit I realize that this Altaïr wannabe has yet to touch his food but I simply roll my eyes and dig in. Though when he continues to stares at me from under his cowl I begin to get just the tiniest bit self-conscious.

Is there food on my face? I'm eating so there probably is. I wipe my mouth on a napkin quickly before taking a drink of my soda. His still sits unopened and when he makes no move to open it or eat I set my food down with an annoyed huff.

"Okay, what is it? What do you want?" I ask annoyed. He says nothing for a bit, just continues to watch me and right when I've had just about enough of his silence he talks.

" _How do you know my name?"_ he asks and I feel my eyebrows draw together in confusion while I take another drink of coke.

His name?

"I don't," I answer, confusion as plain on my face as it is in my voice. He cocks his head to the side at the admission but says nothing. I really don't know his name and if he really is one of big brother's friends then it should be no surprise that I know it but I haven't even called him any names (out loud)—Mother would have killed me if I did. Still, I think the only name I've said out loud while in his presence had been…

" _Alta_ _ï_ _r…Alta_ _ï_ _r Ibn-La'Ahad."_

Oh shit.

I shoot out of my chair so fast it topples to the floor and he stands as well. But I don't move back from him, instead I reach across the table, grabbing his left hand without much thought as to how he will react. And when my eyes land on what I'm looking for, or rather what isn't there, I freeze.

His finger…he's missing his ring finger. The finger he gave up to show his devotion to the brotherhood… _He's missing his fucking finger_! My heart once again races as I pull away from him with what I'm sure is a horrified expression.

Altaïr.

Aw fuck, _Alta_ _ï_ _r_.

_Either he's a rather devoted cosplayer or something is horribly wrong._

I don't know what I expected to find as I race to my room and throw open the computer, once again leaving the intruder alone in the house. Not that I care at this point especially since it seems I've lost my sanity sometime during the night.

Mother always said it would happen if I kept working at night and it would seem Mother's right again.

When my eyes lock on those green words against the pale yellow background I can't help but feel as if they're taunting me. Like they're mocking me because _what the fuck_!? Where's the fucking fine print warning you that this shit will actually happen?

No, wait.

Deep breath.

This isn't real. Yeah, there's no way this _can_ be real. I mean, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad? How the hell would he even end up here? In Southern California, roughly nine hundred years into the future? And even if he _was_ real he should be long dead.

Okay, think logically.

_I think logical already flew out the window, sweetie._

Then we have to get it back asap!

...

Great, now I'm talking to myself.

I don't have to look towards my doorway to know that _Alta_ _ï_ _r_ stands there but I ignore him either way and move to pick up my box of _Assassin's Creed_. There on the cover Altaïr stands, looking as lethal as ever. As I stare at the box it gets to be so much that I have to take a seat on my bed.

This isn't happening. It's not possible…

_But he's right fucking there._

Movement pulls my gaze back towards the door and I watch numbly as he approaches my seated form. This is…I need help! I launch myself at him, pushing and pulling him to sit on the bed without another thought. Once he's seated I spin around and swipe a pair of jeans from my closet along with a black sweater.

"Wait here, I need to get, um, decent," I mumble and head to the door before he can speak—not that he's been doing much of it. I don't know if he will stay and a little part me hopes that he'll disappear as I close the door behind me and race to the bathroom across the hall from my room.

Because I can't deal with this.

I'm not mentally prepared for this at all. Fuck, I don't think anyone can be mentally prepared for a fictional character to come to life. Crap, I need help—desperately—and I know just who to go to. The one person I know that won't call me batshit crazy the second I tell them just who he is but first, clothes.

No way in hell am I going to go out dressed in shorts and a tank top even if it is the middle of the night— _especially_ because it's the middle of the night. I'm kind of embarrassed already that I've been gallivanting around in shorts in front of a guest.

Mother would have boxed my ears if she had been witness to that.

I change quickly once I reach the bathroom before racing back into my room. I'm more than a little hopeful that he's disappeared but, as I open the door, I find him exactly where I left him, sitting on the bed though he's now clutching the box of Assassin's Creed rather tightly in his hands.

Panic swells in me and, as his golden eyes—aw, fuck, why are they gold, this just serves to prove my point—slowly lift from the box to me, I gulp.

_Please, please don't freak out._

"That's you," I whisper as our eyes lock because there's a questioning glint to his eyes that I can't ignore. Plus, things might go a lot smoother if I explain to him what's going on. "That's you," I say again when his eyes widen in shock. "Some freaky shit is going on here so we need to go to someone who might be able to help us find out what's going on."

He goes back to studying the box for a bit before he nods, handing the box back. He flexes his arms as I take it and I have to try really hard to ignore the quiet _snick-snick_ of his hidden blade expanding and retracting.

He's testing it out, making sure it's ready for a battle he won't be seeing because I'm not about to let him go around killing people. I do not feel like dealing with the police right now on top of all this shit and I really don't think he'd do too well in prison—if he doesn't kill every police officer that comes after him that is.

Sure, his skills are top-notch but I'm not too sure how he'll fare against guns.

"I wouldn't use that if I were you," I comment nonchalantly as I grab my wallet and keys and we exit the room. He trails casually behind me as we make our way to the front door and I don't turn back to look at him as I say, "And if you do use that on anyone I won't stop you from being imprisoned. You are no longer back in Masyaf, Altaïr. The rules here are far more different and the punishments harsher."

What his reaction to my words are I don't know because I don't bother to look. I just keep walking until we reach the front door and even then I don't look at him as I motion him outside and lock up.

Actually, now that I think about it, how can he be so nonchalant over this?

Does he know what exactly is going on?

Does he know he's just managed to jump into the future?

And if not then isn't he even just a little curious as to why a girl is wearing pants? Didn't girls only wear dresses in his time and isn't he worried that he's in unfamiliar territory? He's taking this all too calmly for my liking. With all these questions racing through my mind I once again find myself wondering if this could just be some big joke.

If it is I'm so kicking someone's ass, along with his, of course.

Once I'm satisfied that all is secure I head towards my car with Altaïr once again trailing behind me. It's not until we reach the car that I realize that we might have just hit a snag. I mean, how am I going to explain to him what this heap of scrap metal called a car is?

Okay, scrap metal might have been too harsh.

The car—my car is a rundown Toyota, Corolla with more parts falling off than hanging on but it's my baby and I love him. It's my first car and was a high school graduation present from my parents, hence why it's so old.

They had fully expected me to total it when they bought it, but I proved them wrong. Me and my baby are going on four years. At this point I wouldn't change him for the world and I know the day he stops kicking is the day I'll bawl like a baby.

You bet your ass I'll hold a funeral for him.

I run my hand lovingly over the faded and chipped baby blue paint before unlocking the passenger door and opening it. I'm going to be in for a bit of a struggle, I just know it because he doesn't know what a car is and I'm going to have convince him that my car is not a monster and it won't kill him when I start it.

He better not stab my baby…

"Sit," I say when he just stands there, making no move to get into the car. He does so hesitantly and I have to help him a little when he has no clue where to put his feet. Once he's seated, I close his door, quickly make my way to the driver side before he can panic.

I don't need him assuming I'm trapping him and have him destroying my car. Unlocking the driver side door, I wrench it open, cringing as the hinges creak horribly. I'll have to oil them soon, preferably before the hinges decided to give up on life and fall off.

Altaïr watches me as I slide in and I can tell he's calculating my every move so it makes me a little nervous when I realize I have to reach over to buckle his seat-belt. I could just leave him without the belt but I really don't want to risk a ticket or have him fly out the window if we get into an accident.

The chances are slim this late at night but I just really don't want to risk it.

I reach over him slowly, not missing the way he tenses but I have nothing to worry about as I manage to buckle him up without incident. Now here comes the hard part. After buckling my seat-belt I put the key in ignition and let it sit there.

Fuck, my hands are getting clammy as I imagine just how badly he could react. I chew on my bottom lip nervously before turning to him.

"Don't get scared, okay? Sam here won't hurt you," I tell him nervously and yes, I named my car. Doesn't everybody? "He's a sweet little fella, but he's a little loud so don't stab him please. He's the only means of travel I have and I'll be lost without him," I say and when he nods I twist the key once.

As my car lights on with a beep I turn off the radio before it can make noise so it won't startle him. I twist the key a second time after I'm sure he won't stab my baby before placing my foot on the brake and turning the car on with what is a thunderous roar in the middle of the night.

Altaïr actually jumps—fucking _jumps—_ at the noise and if it wasn't for the hidden blade I can see sliding out I would have been laughing hysterically. I grab his arm before he can stab my dashboard and possibly set off the airbag—if it has one. It's too old for me to be sure.

He tries to pull his arm from my grip but I keep hold of it and when he turns wide, golden eyes towards me, I give him a stern look. One I'm sure Mother would have been proud off.

"I thought we agreed on no stabbing," I hiss and he actually looks a little sheepish as I, slowly, let go of his arm.

It's actually kind of amazing that he didn't try to take a stab at me but I push the thought away and turn my attention back to my baby. As I take off the parking brake and shift the car into reverse I make sure to keep an eye on Altaïr's arm in case he wants to strike out again.

And because of this I get to witness an incredibly funny sight. One that makes up for the shattered chandelier—well, almost.

As I ease out of the driveway I have to keep from laughing as Altaïr begins to look around wildly when he realizes we're moving backwards. And if it wasn't because I have to watch where I'm going I would have been kept watching him look semi-ridiculous in his flustered state.

Malik would be rolling around the floor, laughing, if he could see how rattled the arrogant and confident Altaïr looks right now. He's clutching the arm rest in a death grip with his right hand while the other holds onto the dash. His eyes are everywhere though, flickering from me, to the dash, to where my hand is resting on the gear shift, to the widow, and then back to me.

Not that I don't feel bad for the poor guy.

He comes from a time where there is no such thing as electronics so I guess I should really take it easy on him. So I go slowly after pulling out of the driveway and shifting the car into drive. I go just under ten miles an hour until I'm sure he's calm enough.

Once he's as relaxed as he's going to get, I begin to go at the speed limit and head to the one person who can help me—us.

My best friend's house.

And I bet you think it's another geeky, four-eyed girl like me but you're wrong. First of all he's a boy; second he doesn't have glasses; and lastly, he's not a geek but a nerd.

Yes, there's a difference.

His name is Gaston—No one's slick as Gaston, no one's quick as Gaston—that's right bitches, I am Lefou!

Nah, I'm just fucking with you. His name is Kenny and no, he doesn't die once a day.

The drive to Kenny's house is short seeing as he lives only a few miles away but no sooner have I parked the car and turn off the engine, Altaïr is fighting—rather frantically—to get his seat-belt off while looking a tad bit green.

I guess he didn't like the ride.

I help him remove his seat-belt before leaning over him, throwing his door open for him. He bolts out the car and I pretend not to see him upchucking on Kenny's lawn to preserve his dignity as I lock up the car.

Motion sickness?

You've have got to be kidding me. He jumps off five-story buildings and taller for fuck's sake. He even rides horses!

I give my baby a quick, comforting pat on his hood as if to tell him it's not his fault before approaching the poor man and helping him to his feet. He wobbles a bit but after he's steady, I take his hand in mine and tug him gently to Kenny's house.

_What have I gotten myself into?_


	3. Ch 2

 

Kenny Chase.

A twenty-five year old college graduate with more than one degree tuck neatly under his belt. He's a nerd, my nerd, who works as an engineer for a big corporation and, thanks to that, already owns a quaint—by choice—house.

Kenny's an oddity though, because he's not just your average run of the mill smart, his IQ is through the roof, holy fuck, child genius smart. He skipped grades and graduated high school at a young age. Because of that, though, he's never had many friends or girlfriends for that matter.

Sucks because he's actually extremely good-looking for a nerd.

He's got blonde hair that just falls so attractively into his baby blue eye and he's tall. The good tall—not the thin sickly kind—with a lean but muscular built. It's kind of amazing really that he hasn't found anyone yet but I think that might be because of his nerd out tendencies…

Once you get him going there's no stopping him.

I fish my keys out of my pocket as I approach his door while still tugging…Altaïr along. It's getting hard to say his name in my head because every bit of me is screaming, _"Get the shrink!"_

Once the door is open I flick on the lights and tug Altaïr in after me. He still looks a bit green so I sit him down on Kenny's cream-colored sofa before locking the door. After all escape routes are secure—because I highly doubt he'll figure out how to unlock a twenty-first century door—I make my way to Kenny's kitchen for a glass of water and some saltine crackers to help settle his stomach.

I also make sure to grab a couple of napkins as I go.

"Here, eat this, it should make you feel at least a bit better," I say as I return to him. I hand him the glass as I open the crackers, though I make sure to wipe his mouth with the napkins a bit before handing them to him. Can't have him looking like he just puked up his guts. Once his dignity is preserved, I leave him happily munching on the crackers with a mumbled, "Wait for me here."

It's the middle of the night but I know that, just like me, there's no doubt Kenny's still up. He's probably in his work shop either tinkering with one of his contraptions or trying to solve a difficult equation. My guess is proven correct when I enter his garage and find him scribbling furiously on a worn out piece of paper.

Instead of barging in and dragging him away from his equations, I decided to watch him work for a bit.

His dedication to his work is shown in his appearance. By that I mean that I'm sure he hasn't shaved in two days, his blonde hair has gotten so long that he needs to pin it back with bobby pins, and he's dressed in a plain white tee with more holes than Swiss cheese. It probably got caught in one of his machines.

It takes a while for him to notice me standing there. It's not until I shift to lean against the door frame that blue eyes flicker to me. A big smile graces his lips instantly and I can't fight my answering one as he scoops me up in a hug.

"Jen," he calls and I laugh as he twirls us around a bit before setting me back down on my feet. He gives me a once over to make sure I'm okay as he sets me back on the floor. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Miss Jennifer?" he asks while giving me a mock bow.

Normally I would follow his lead and joke and play until we can't do more than laugh, but today isn't a time for jokes so I stay serious as I tell him, "We got a problem, Ken."

He sobers up instantly like I knew he would because, when it comes to Kenny, I know I couldn't be in better hands. He gives a curt nod and waits for me to explain.

"You see—it's—there's—something— _someone_ —he—no, it's better if you see it for yourself," I finally decided when I can't put what I need to say into reasonable words.

I tug him with me to his living room. Kenny's a nerd, not a geek, but that doesn't mean he doesn't play video games every once in a while—though I don't know if he'll recognize Altaïr as quickly as I did.

When we enter the living room, Altaïr's right where I left him and he looks the correct shade this time. Kenny's gaze lands on the unknown man in his living room instantly. He freezes as he looks at Altaïr, though I can tell he doesn't make the connection when he turns back to me with a confused look. That's all I need to know this wasn't a prank on his part.

The silence stretches for what feels like forever though, when Kenny finally speaks, I've never wanted to face palm so much in my life!

"Why is there a Cosplayer sitting on my couch?" he asks so sincerely, so _confused_ that the sight of such plain confusion on his face throws _me_ for a loop. I keep staring at him and I'm sure my eyes are as wide as his as we stare at one another completely dumbfounded.

"I'll admit, that's one hell of costume. I'm jealous, but why is he here? Did he get lost on his way to E3? Did you pick him up from E3?" he asks, coming out of his confused state first, blue eyes once again turns Altaïr. "Wait? E3 was awhile ago…"

Wide blue eyes turn back to me in a flash. The intensity I see in them throws me for another loop before I can say anything in response.

"Did something happen? Did he do something? Oh no," he says and the despair in his voice keeps me in my stunned even when he turns—surprisingly—burning blue eyes to Altaïr. "Is he you're baby daddy, Jen?"

Where that one came from I'll never know, but it's enough to send me rocketing out of my stunned state into a black spiral of murderous intent. I narrow my eyes and don't pause to think as I strike out and attack.

"Ouch! What the fuck, Jen?" Kenny curses as I smack his arm repeatedly. "I'm sorry; it's just that I don't see what the problem is. I mean, all I see is a guy cosplaying as Altaïr, sitting on my sofa, eating crackers, and the only problem I could come up with is that he knocked you up," he say as he shields himself with his hands as I continue to hit him with each offending word.

"When this is over we're going to have a serious talk about your opinion of me, Kenneth Chase," I scold and he gulps.

An awkward silence swallows us then and it's not until he clears his throat, gesturing questionably at Altaïr, who's watching our exchange with unhidden curiosity, that I finally relent and say, "So I'm guessing you don't recognize him?"

"No, did he used to go to our school or something?" Kenny asks and when I shake my head he gives me a confused look but instead of answering I approach Altaïr and take a hold of his arm. For some reason—I'm guessing it's the same reason I left him alone in my house _twice—_ I feel safe around the lethal Assassin and I know he won't hurt me as I lift his left arm. I points towards the hidden blade.

Kenny merely quirks a brow at it, unamused. I know it's because he thinks it as cheap, plastic, knock off most cosplayers wear. I motion him to come look at it and he does so but only after he rolls his eyes in exasperation at having to look at something he finds offending.

You see, Kenny's had a fascination with the Assassin's blades since he first saw me playing _Assassin's Creed._ The weapon's design intrigued him to no end especially since the Assassins had to remove their ring fingers to avoid accidentally triggering the blade. He even made a few replicas in his spare time. He had to get rid of them though and I rather not tell you why because it's quite an embarrassing story.

Still, after spending so much time researching, studying, and crafting he finds the plastic ones offending with all their imperfections and just horrible craftsmanship. Though the moment his eyes land on the weathered leather his eyebrows shoot upwards in amazement.

He marvels over the weapon while Altaïr twitches in his seat. He's uncomfortable with Kenny's closeness. Which is understandable since, to an Assassin, being this close to another male either means he's going to be attacked by them or he's attacking them.

It's just how he was taught.

"I've never seen one so historically accurate," Kenny mumbles as he runs his fingers over it. He's so fascinated by it that he doesn't seem to notice the missing finger at all. Altaïr manages to stay still for longer than I expect before he roughly pulls his arm away from Kenny, quickly hiding his blade behind his back. The movement snaps Kenny from his nerd (or is it geek?) haze and he stumbles back with a slight blush on his cheek. "I'm sorry; it's just that that is the most beautiful replica I've ever seen."

"It's not a replica," I mumble. Kenny gives me a confused look but I ignore it as I grab Altaïr's hand again. "Take a look at this," I say as I turn his palm face up and point towards the missing finger. Kenny eyebrows draw together in confusion as his eyes run over the thick scar tissue.

Nothing about that scar reads "professional". It's sloppy and rough and, honestly, not that great to look at. It obviously wasn't done by a team of doctors and I can tell that Kenny's beginning to realize something is seriously off about this cosplayer when narrowed eyes turn my way.

"Jennifer." His voice is even, cool, the calm before the storm and it makes my heart race in indecision because what if he thinks I'm crazy and gives me the boot? What if I lose my best friend because of some overly dedicated cosplayer? "What is going on?"

"I don't know!" I yell as the frustration, anxiety, and dread comes to a head. "All I know is that one second I'm making myself some food then there's this huge crash and when I go to investigate, Mom's chandelier—the colorful one in the living room—is on the ground and fucking _Alta_ _ï_ _r Ibn-La'Ahad_ is in my fucking house," I rant and Kenny's jaw nearly touches the floor by the time I'm done.

Silence falls over us as Kenny shifts his gaze from Altaïr, to me, to Altaïr again.

"Jen," he finally says and, when I turn to him, I'm caught off guard by the amount of concern I see on his face. "Are you high? Did your baby daddy give you anything illegal? Have you been drinking? Oh my god, is the baby okay? Please tell me you didn't drive Sam. Do I need to hide any bodies or buff out any dents? Are the cops on their way? Should I go get some cranberry—"

"Kenneth Chase," I growl, cutting him off violently. He stares wide-eyed at me as I glare at him. "I'm going to strangle you," I snarl as I advance on him because I'm just so fucking done. Done with all this bullshit and I really need to hit something or someone before I explode.

He scrambles away as I stalk towards him, though, before he can get far, he ends up falling as his long legs get tangled up under him. Luckily for him though, before I can pounce on him, strong arms wrap around my waist and hold me back.

"You will rue the day you were ever born, Kenneth. This I swear," I yell as I struggle against Altaïr. A chuckle, deep and just so wow sounds in my ear. If I hadn't been so frustrated by everything I would have stopped to enjoy it. Instead I turn on him. "Oh, you want some of this too, huh?"

I attempt to claw at him but he grabs my hands and holds them in one of his instantly. It's not a fair fight, not with his skill and strength and I'm a complete idiot for challenging him. He's used to bringing down bigger and stronger men so he holds me easily as I try in vain to attack him. He continues to chuckle and I play with the idea of kneeing him in his special place.

You know, he's more-touchy feely then I would have expected of an Assassin.

"When did you learn to speak Arabic?"

Kenny's question catches me of guard and I let my leg go limp just inches away from its target.

"I didn't, I'm not," I say and give Kenny a confused look. His gives me a confused look in return and I turn to look at Altaïr thoughtfully. "Am I?" I'm asking no one in particular but it's Altaïr that answers and it kick starts the gears in my brain.

While the game was in English, the story took place in Jerusalem 1191 so it's impossible for them to actually speak English. But then, how is Altaïr understanding me?

_"Are you what?"_

He never responded to anything Kenny said and I thought it was only because he was being rude but what if he doesn't understand Kenny?

"Quick, Kenny, ask a question," I yell while still in Altaïr's grip. Kenny stares at me for a second before asking what I'm sure was the first question that popped into his head. Well, it better have been.

"Are you Jennifer's baby daddy, Altaïr?"

I've never wanted to face palm so bad in my life but I hold it back—well, I can't since Altaïr's still has a grip on my hands—in favor of analyzing Altaïr's reaction. Other than the tilt of a head at the end of the sentence, when he hears his name, Altaïr has no actual reaction to Kenny's words nor does he reply. I gulp at the implication of it.

I keep my gaze on him, making sure to lock eyes with him as I speak.

"Why don't you answer Kenny's question, Altaïr?" I ask and I almost hope he won't answer but when he does I know I've been speaking in Arabic the entire time I've been with him.

_How in the hell is it possible?_

_"What did he ask?"_ Altaïr looks completely confused as he asks. The open confusion in his voice tells me he's not messing around. Arabic, I'm speaking Arabic without even trying to. I don't know if I should feel completely weirded out by it or overjoyed that I now know a third language—even if it only seems to be when I address Altaïr. My mind swirls with all the _how's_ and _why's_ but I have to take this one thing at time or else I'm sure I'll go insane.

 _"How did you end up in my home?"_ I ask, he seems to realize that the situation has taken a serious turn because he releases me. Taking a step back, he lowers his chin so that he can hide his face behind his cowl.

It's a defense mechanism and seeing him act so…assassin-like only helps to confirm my theory.

 _"I don't know,"_ he answers and I curse before turning to Kenny and repeating our short conversation to him. He looks Altaïr over. I can tell he's starting to believe me when he begins mumbling all the possibilities under his breath.

They range from a rip in the time space continuum to aliens to multiple universes. He'll keep going and repeating them until he finds the answer.

It's a habit he picked up while in college.

If anyone can find the most likely possibility—if not the answer— then Kenny and his big brain can. While he mumbles to himself I turn back to Altaïr. I don't know whether to tell him of just where he is or keep him in the dark until we get him home because we _will_.

Even if I die trying.

_But let's not go that far._

Shit, I don't know what I was thinking when I chose him. A fucking Assassin is ten times worse than Batman because Batman doesn't kill but with Altaïr…I've endangered just about everyone.

 _"Do you know where you are?"_ I ask and when all I get is a shake of his head, I turn to Kenny. "Do I tell him where he is, Ken? Or do we keep it on the down low?" I ask and Kenny's only response is first a nod and then a shake while he continues to think.

A 'yes' to tell him and a 'no' to waiting.

I take a deep breath before letting it out in a rush of words.

 _"You're in America, year 2014,"_ I say and watch as he slowly tenses up.

His eyes roam over everything around him almost as if he's seeing it all for the first time—which he technically is. They linger on the lights before shifting to Kenny's digital clock on the fireplace mantel. The letters are a bright blue and the time reads 3:37. It's pretty late but I know that's not why it holds his attention. He's never seen anything like it in his life and he was never supposed to either.

Well, not until he gets his hands on the apple, until it shows him glimpses of the future.

"What else where you doing before he showed up." Kenny's words cuts the silence. I don't take my eyes off Altaïr as I try to remember a few minutes before making myself food and the crash. Oh, right, that picture.

"I was on the computer reading this picture," I mumble and turn to face Kenny as I speak again. "It said _'If you could bring one video game character to life, who would you choose?' That's_ the only notable thing I can think of before any of this happened," I answer, Kenny once again begins mumbling. I no longer hear him mumble the word Alien so I know he tossed out that possibility.

"What did you answer?"

I don't reply to him, I just let my eyes turn back to Altaïr who now stands in front of the digital clock. He's examining it and I have a strong urge to approach him before he can destroy it. I got to wonder though, is this Altaïr from before being stripped to a novice? If it is from before he was stripped of his rank I really expected a lot more cockiness but Altaïr seems more than a little mild-mannered.

Maybe I've been dealing with the Grand Master.

_"How is Malik?"_

Sometimes I really need to think before I speak. Now is one of those times because as soon as Malik's name is out of my mouth, a shiny and very sharp blade is held against my throat. I find it kind of funny that it's taken him until now to pull that blade on me.

Not even when I had said his whole name had he attacked me. Could it be that Malik has become a sore spot to talk about because it was Altaïr's fault the man lost his arm? It still doesn't explain why he hadn't attacked me when I said his own name.

 _"How much do you know?"_ he asks, behind me Kenny gives a shout but I hold him off with a raised hand, meeting Altaïr's heated gaze head on. The eagle vision! It must have either shone blue, white, or not at all. Still, why wait until now to interrogate me?

Had I shone blue?

Is that why he followed me willingly with almost no words at all?

 _"It'd be easier for me to tell you what I don't know, like how you managed to jump at least eight hundred year into the future,"_ I hiss at him before shoving his blade away from my throat—surprisingly—easily. There was no real weight behind the blade; he'd only done it to intimidate me and, I'm not going to lie, it gives me an ego boost to know that I had shown him I wouldn't bend under a threat. _"What were you in the middle of when you ended up at my house?"_

 _"Evading guards,"_ he answers after a bit of silence. Oh, now I know what had happened to mom's chandelier. At the time of his transition from his world to mine he must have jumped towards a ledge or something and ended up grabbing mom's chandelier. Aw, shoot. I'm going to have to pay for that because there's no way Altaïr can.

You know, he _really_ is taking this a little too calmly for my liking.

Then again, he's trained to keep his cool in any and all circumstances, but shouldn't time travel call for at least some type of freak out?

"It was a rip in time space continuum," Kenny suddenly says. "It's the best I can come up with, so we need to go to your house, if we want to get him back home," he says as rushes out of the living room. I watch him go before turning back to Altaïr and wonder how to tell him what Kenny just said.

Straightforward would be best because there really isn't any other way to do this.

 _"That guy, his name is Kenny and he's really, really smart. If anyone can get you home it's him,_ " I say and pause to make sure Altaïr is following me before continuing _. "He thinks it's a rip in the time space continuum that brought you here and even if it sounds incredibly far-fetched, it's the most likely answer we're going to get, so we're heading back to my house,"_ I say, frowning when Altaïr pales a bit.

_"In that monster?"_

I have to hold back a laugh at the question because he sounds more like a scared child than a fearsome master assassin and it's so adorable.

 _"Sam's not a monster. He's just loud,"_ I say a just as Kenny comes back dressed in dark jeans and a green hoodie. He has his own back pack thrown over his shoulder and I know it's filled with all his gadgets. _"He wouldn't hurt a fly and he's saved my life more times than I can count."_

The way I see it, making him believe that my car is actually alive is a hundred times easier than telling him my car is a metal death trap—because it kind of is when you take into account just how old it is.

I exit the house and head towards the car with Altaïr trailing after me while Kenny locks up.

Convincing Altaïr to get into the car consists of some pushing and shoving but soon enough Altaïr's strapped in nice and tight in the back seat and we're off to my house. On the way there I translate the conversation I had earlier with Altaïr to Kenny and when I get to the bit about Altaïr being on the run from guards when he ended up here, Kenny starts mumbling under his breath again.

Once we're at my house Altaïr, being the fast learner that he is, throws the door to my car open and rushes outside. He doesn't vomit this time but I can see that the ride had still nauseated him.

As soon as we enter the house, Kenny begins to give the place a once over.

"Do you see anything," I ask while doing some searching myself even though I'm not sure what I'm looking for. Kenny's crouched over what's left of the chandelier with a small flash light, mumbling a mile a minute and I'm begin to worry that this may be too much for his big brain to handle.

"No," he says and worry grips me as I begin to think that maybe it closed but Kenny speaks before I can voice my fear. "They don't close like in the movies, Jen. So don't panic. A rip in the space-time continuum is like a rip in a piece of cloth. Unless we close it, it won't close on its own," he says. I nod even though he's not watching me. It's a relief to know that we don't have to worry about it closing before we can get Altaïr back home. "I just can't find it!"

I give Kenny a comforting pat on the shoulder as I look up towards the ceiling. I stare up into the dark hole, shifting from side to side until my eyes catch a flash of color that I didn't notice before. I was standing on the opposite side when the chandelier first fell so, because of the angle, I hadn't seen it. But now I do and the pat on Kenny's shoulder turns into a tug as I try to get his attention.

"Ken, I found it!" I yell, he shoots up at the declaration, instantly looking to where I'm pointing. When he spots what can only be described as a swirl of colors he lets out a slow whistle. "Quick, to the attic," I yell though we're both already making our way towards the stairs. We race up the stairs to the second floor of the house. My room's on the first floor because I have this huge phobia of heights but right now it's completely forgotten as it's pushed away by excitement.

Altaïr follows after us at calmer pace as we run to the end of the hall as quietly as we can. Throwing the door to the attic open, we once again race up the stairs. The excitement is visible in both of us but when we finally come face to face with the rip we freeze and simply stare.

There's something oddly beautiful about this rip. It's not as big as I expected. In fact it's pretty small, but it floats in the middle of the room and right above the hole I'm now sure a certain Assassin made. It has all the colors of the rainbow but the blue's stick out the most, giving it a tranquil, unassuming look as it just floats there. We all stare in awed silence, including Altaïr, but when I unconsciously reach towards it Ken slaps my hand away.

"What the fuck are you doing, Jen?" Kenny yells and I blush before giving him a timid smile while shrugging. "Touching that could have sent you eight hundred years into the past or worse," Kenny yells angrily causing my blush to intensify while I hang my head.

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking," I mumble before once again turning my gaze to the swirl. "So what now? What do we do? How do we close it? " I ask as Kenny shrugs off his backpack, rummaging through it.

He pulls all kinds of things from his bag that I can't even name and I watch him fiddle with them. He doesn't bother to explain what he's doing because we both know I won't understand it; no one would because this is Kenny and he's a fucking genius.

"I need some time to study it but, Jen?" he calls. I freeze as something in his voice causes dread to trail down my spine. "This is from a different time stream. It's _his_ time stream," Kenny says casually. The words make me sick to my stomach as it finally hits me that this is really Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

The truth of the situation bares down on me as I turn to stare at Altaïr, seeing him in a whole new light. I guess, in the back of my mind, I had always been telling myself that this, that _he_ wasn't real.

But it's not impossible when you think about it. The universe is infinite so who's to say that this—Altaïr's story—didn't actually happen in some universe far, far away? Or in another dimension where he _did_ exist. Well, apparently it did and now, somehow, the fabric of time between our two universes/dimensions split.

He looks more deadly now than when I first laid eyes on him. He stands a few feet away from us, in the shadows. The dim light of the attic makes him look all the more sinister. And the way his cowl shields all but his lips and chin from view, makes him look _even more_ menacing.

The fear that I should have felt when I first realized that he was an Assassin finally hits and, when he takes a step towards me as he notices the unmasked fear on my face, I unconsciously take one back.

He's dangerous, a killer, a murderer. I've put Kenny's life in danger; if Altaïr decides that for whatever reason we need to be killed he won't hesitate to do it. If he feels we're a danger to his Brotherhood he'll kill us. He's killed many already so what's two more to that count and, if this is pre-demotion Altaïr, then we really won't survive.

Pre-demotion, that Altaïr, didn't even think twice about cutting down an innocent, old man even when killing innocents goes against his creed.

He has all his weapons so he's either from before or after the demotion.

_I really hope it's after._

"From what I can tell, without running any tests, is that it was forcibly torn," Kenny says—oblivious to the small confrontation going on between Altaïr and me. I make sure to keep Altaïr in my sights as I turn slightly towards Kenny. "Something ripped it to this size," he says more to himself than me while carefully running a pen along the jagged edges I've only just noticed.

"So you're saying someone or something _tore_ into our worlds?" I ask, doubt coloring my words. What would have enough power to do that?

And in my attic?

I'm pretty sure no one in my family wanted to travel to Jerusalem, 1191—assuming that's where and when the rip opened up in, it could be Masyaf for all I know—and I really doubt anyone or anything in Jerusalem, 1191 had the power and technology to rip the fabric of time and space.

"No, the hole was already there but my guess is it was small. No bigger than a penny," Kenny says. I nod even though he's not looking at me. " _Something_ made it bigger though, forced it to rip to this size," he says and I feel my eyebrows pull together in confusion. Already there? How is that possible? "There's rips everywhere around us but they're small, an atom or two at most but this one was big enough for something to hook into it and tear it," he answers before I can question.

"So how do we close it?" I ask.

Altaïr's golden gaze is locked on me as Kenny and I talk. I can feel it though I try my best to keep from meeting his gaze. I feel awkward, for lack of better words, to know that I had tried to feed pork to a Muslim. In my defense I didn't know at the time that he was actually Altaïr in the flesh and even after I began to realize who he was I kind of doubted he actually, truly was Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

"I'm not sure but it'll be tricky. I have to find a way to close it without damaging the 'fabric'. Hell, I don't know if I will even be able to," Kenny says as he finally turns to look at me. He says nothing for a bit as he studies us. Kenny's smart, he can read the awkward tension from a mile away and I know he has when his gaze shifts questionably between Altaïr and I.

"I got to wonder though, Jen. Why close it?" he asks and I turn wide eyes to him as I wait for him to elaborate. "Since you showed up at my house all you've wanted is to get him home. I wouldn't have expected that from you."

He's right.

I love _Assassin's Creed_ , it definitely made it to the top five of my favorites—neck to neck with _Batman: Arkham Asylum_ and that's saying something when you take into account my love for the bat—but something in me screams dangerous and it has nothing to with Altaïr.

This is bad, I can feel it in my bones and not just for my world because if this _is_ pre-demotion Altaïr his world is in danger too. Imagine a world where Altaïr disappeared. Where there was no one to stop Al Mualim.

What would become of his world?

Of the creed?

Hell, even if someone in his world managed to see through Al Mualim's corrupted ways and stoped him there would be no Desmond. Not without Altaïr, his ancestor. They need him so I need to get him back to his world that much is understandable but the same thing that screams danger, screams _'close it!'_ and I'm not too sure why.

"A lot can go wrong if we don't."

It's the only answer I can give him at the moment but Kenny's played the game and he understands all I'm trying to say without actually saying it. He nods his head in understanding before turning back to the swirl, giving it a quick once over.

"Well, to get him back home all he needs to do is jump back through," he says as he shoves all his gadgets back into his backpack and throws it over his shoulder. "I can try to find a way to close it but it'll take a while so for now it'll stay open and if it stays open, well, we'll have to keep an eye on it in case something comes through."

That would be bad, we both know this but before Kenny can say anything else he's interrupted by a loud shriek.

It's loud—downright eardrum damaging in the small attic—and it doesn't come from me or Altaïr or even Kenny. It comes from behind me and, as I turn around to investigate the sound, I get a face full of feathers. The shrieking, which I've just come to realize isn't really shrieking but squawking, increases as I fall to the floor clutching a squirming mass of feathers.

"What the hell?" Kenny yells as he watches the bird thrash in my arms before I give up on holding it and let go.

Miraculously I'm not injured. As I lay on my back I watch the bird, which turns out to be an eagle, flying around the room before settling on some old cardboard boxes. I know what that bird represents in the game but I wouldn't have thought it would have actually been a part of the story if it had been real.

What would they need the bird for?

It doesn't actually point out buildings from them to scale so they can map out the cities, does it?

I watch as Altaïr approaches the bird and it easily hopes onto his arm with only a small _'caw'._ They're a sight to see, those two and as I climb to my feet I don't tear my eyes off them.

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, the born and bred, top of his class, golden-eyed master Assassin.

 _The eagle_.

Kenny keeps his eyes on them too but when the bird leaps off Altaïr's arm and flies back into the swirl Kenny and I share a glance. It's urging him to follow and, when Altaïr doesn't, the bird flies back through the swirl and towards him.

These birds are more than just your average eagles. It's noticeable in the way it tries to urge Altaïr back home. He—something tells me it's a he—has been trained to pick an Assassin out from a crowd. To cry out and signal to them once they do.

He's been trained to lead an Assassin to where they need to be and it's honestly disturbing to see it fly between our two worlds as it tries to get Altaïr to follow. It causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand. Every fiber of my being knows that this just shouldn't be happening and as I watch the eagle fly through the swirl once more I get a little queasy.

It feels wrong in so many ways and there's just no explanation as to why.

Whereas I'm watching the bird continuously fly between our dimensions, Altaïr's still got his golden gaze on me. Kenny stands back as he too watches the bird and says nothing. The awkward tension still hangs heavy in the air and no one makes a move to break it. We all just stand there quietly, staring while the bird seems to grow more desperate.

It continues crying as it flies back and forth for a while before finally rushing towards me. I yelp as it shoots at me and don't have enough time to duck or move as it plummets into my chest, knocking me off balance, and sending me crashing to the ground with a yelp.

Or at least it would have if I hadn't been standing so damn close to the swirl.

The world spins and a rainbow of colors envelop me as I fall into the swirl. Both Kenny and Altaïr shoot towards me as I get swallowed up by the swirl. Kenny's hand wraps around my flailing arm and Altaïr manages to grip the edge of my sweater but it's too late.

All it does is pull them after me because, while the swirl is small, it's like being thrown into a fast-moving river and the current swallows us up like nothing.

_Fuck!_

 


	4. Ch 3

I can't breathe.

There's something heavy on my chest and I can almost hear my ribs creaking in protest as the weight on me doesn't move. As I struggle to take a breath the weight on me shifts and any air I had managed to take in gets stolen from me.

I know what the weight is, or more like whom, and as I feel myself getting dizzy I can only hope they move before I pass out.

It's my fault I'm in this situation to begin with, so I'm not angry. I mean, it’s my fault we've been thrown at least eight hundred years into the past and ended up like this. Apparently the opening here is as high as the one back home—three stories high—and because Kenny and Altaïr tried to stop me from falling they've been dragged in along with me.

So we ended up like this, (luckily enough) in a cart full of hay (unfortunately) with the boys damn near crushing me to death as we plummeted from the sky and crashed into the cart.

I can hear the eagle cry as it flies above us and something about that cry just sounds so smug. And if it weren't because I'm a bit busy right now being squished to death I would have hunted him down—the eagle that is. I guess that explains how the eagle had managed to continuously pass through the swirl.

It's high enough for him to pass back and forth undisturbed.

Finally, after what feels like hours but was probably no more than a minute, the bodies on me move and I take in a huge breath. Arms pull me from the cart and I cough as I accidentally inhale little pieces of hay.

"Jen! Jennifer, are you okay?" Kenny asks as he and Altaïr lower me to the dirt floor while I gasp for air and cough up hay bits at the same time.

More than just my chest ache and I can feel my leg throb painfully. I really hope I didn't break it. I point to my right leg while I cough and Kenny quickly begins to check it after settling my miraculously still intact glasses on my nose. Altaïr watches on while throwing looks over his shoulder every few seconds.

We've drawn attention and I struggle to get my coughs under control before we draw anymore.

Though it's only as my eyes meet those of Altaïr that my coughs subside.

I keep my eyes locked with his as I take a shaky breath through my nose. His gaze is calming in a weird way and I can feel myself relax even though I know I should be panicking. I mean, I'm in Jerusalem, 1191! In Altaïr's time stream no less. Where there are Templars and Assassins and thieves and guards and evil little birds that like to throw people into different dimensions.

"It's not broken," Kenny says as he pulls away and gives me a once over. He grimaces when his eyes reach my hair before reaching up and plucking hay from my hair. There's hay in his hair too but the color matches so it doesn't stand out as much as it does in my brown hair.

I run my fingers through my hair to help him get all the hay out but say nothing because I know he's on the verge of a freak out.

It's noticeable to me only because I know Kenny isn't one to care much for appearances–neither mine nor his—and the fact that he's paying attention to mine points to him being nervous. His hands are also shaking the tiniest bit. Just small trembles that I wouldn't have noticed if they hadn't been brushing against my scalp.

Kenny's a child genius, a twenty-five year old college graduate with more than one degree but no matter how smart he is, traveling to another dimension would freak anyone out.

Strike that.

Except Altaïr since he seems to have taken this all in stride.

Both times.

"Ken," I call as I take his trembling hands in mine and bring them to my chest. His eyes meet mine as I do and I can see all the restrained fear in them. "It's okay, we'll be fine. Besides, we have each other," I say and Ken gives me a shaky nod and I smile at him while I release his hands. "Good, now help me up."

Growing up, it was always Kenny and I.

Kenny's big brain made him the outcast, the black sheep. It caused him to skip grades and so he never really made any friends. Me, well, I was an outcast by choice, more or less. I didn't want to play with Barbies or makeup.

I wanted the cool remote-controlled car and video games so the other girls found me weird and stayed away. Our parents were lucky that we were neighbors or I'm sure both of us would have gone without friends.

Since I can remember it's always been Kenny and I.

Kenny reading books on the couch while I sat next to him playing video games. Kenny working on some contraption or the other while I tapped away on my Game Boy. Kenny helping me with my homework, Kenny and me at the beach and the park and the pool. It's always been Kenny and I. And, now, it's Kenny and I in  _Assassin's Creed_.

Just dear lord don't let it be  _Assassin's Creed_  one.

I'll take  _Assassin's Creed: Alta_ _ï_ _r's Chronicles_ even if it means having to put up with Maria.

Kenny drags me to my feet and quickly throws my arm over his shoulder so I won't have to put any weight on my right leg. It doesn't stop it from throbbing and I take a deep, shaky breath. The pain is close to unbearable but the knowledge that we could be in possible danger keeps me from whining.

Kenny's tall form is enough to keep most of the weight off my leg, though and it makes it just a tiny bit bearable.

Altaïr's gaze hasn't left my form since we've locked eyes and it's only when someone runs up to us that they finally do.

"Altaïr!"

His golden gaze shifts to another hooded figure and for a bit ice cold fear flows through my veins before I realize that Altaïr hasn't moved to attack. It's as I notice this that I take a closer look around me and find that the streets are full of cloaked men.

Men in white tunics and dark blue robes, some with hoods pulled up and others with hoods pooled around their necks. Of course there's the occasional woman in white tunics thrown into the mix of but the number of men far outweigh them. Most women wear pale colored robes as they walk among the hooded men without fear or hesitation.

We're at their headquarters!

We're at Masyaf!

Relief fills me so deeply I get light-headed and have to lean into Kenny to keep us both from toppling over. Altaïr gives me a look filled with curiosity as he realizes my reaction but before I can feel any embarrassment, his words from earlier drift into my mind.

He said he had been running from guards…

"Dirty fucking lair," I hiss under my breath and I feel Kenny start as he manages to catch my words. "He fucking lied to me," I hiss louder as I glare at Altaïr and ignore that all my hissing has manages to catch the attention of the man talking to Altaïr.

The man turns to look at me, a quick snap of his head in my direction as he clearly hears my cursing. And I would have laughed at his surprise over my foul language if his hood hadn't fallen, if my eyes hadn't locked with chocolate-brown ones.

If I hadn't recognized those curious brown eyes that peer at me from beneath shaggy black hair.

My world comes to a crashing halt as I stare at the man, my heart stops and blood chilling fear fills me. Every hope I had of this being Grand Master Altaïr dies a horrible, painful death as I watch while  _two_ hands come up to pull his hood back over his head.

It was all of five seconds, but his appearance has been forever burned into my mind. His face dances in my mind's eye and it's only after his face is safely hidden in the shadows of his hood that my heart sputters back to life, hard and fast.

_"Malik."_

It's a strained—almost a whine—sound and it takes me awhile to realize that I'm the one who made the noise.

Altaïr's eyes take on a whole new level of curiosity while the man— _Malik_ _—_ just looks questionably between Altaïr and I.

Obviously he's not sure if he should respond to the call of his name and he continues to shift his gaze between us in indecision. Though finally his gaze settles on Altaïr and I know I've been ignored and that's completely fine by me.

Kenny's grip on me tightens; he hasn't quite gripped the severity of the situation but my reactions are enough for him to know that something's wrong.

Very, very wrong.

But, even though I'm aware of all the danger this could possibly put us in, a little voice in the back of my head asks if maybe I'm just over-reacting. Sure this is pre-demotion Altaïr who does what he wants, kills when he pleases, and bends the rules to his favor….

We are so fucked.

The scream of  _'close it'_ and  _'danger'_ come back like never before, louder and insistent and actually makes me somewhat dizzy as the words continue to circle around my head.

"Altaïr, who are your companions?"

Malik's voice is nonchalant, borderline bored, but you can tell there's restrained curiosity from the way he hasn't taken his eyes off us and I don't fault him for being curious. We must be a sight to see with our weird clothing and Kenny's weird hair and eye color.

I'm sure most of them aren't used to seeing a blue-eyed, blonde-haired man—traveling Assassins or not.

Kenny tenses under Malik's hidden gaze but tries to appear nonchalant as well.

I'm pretty sure Malik sees right through it, though.

As an Assassin he has to be aware of every little thing, including the mood of the people around him. One angry citizen is all it takes to blow your cover after all and a suspicious guard is all it takes for all of them to come after you, swords drawn.

Altaïr hasn't moved his gaze from us, not since I muttered Malik's name and I shift uncomfortably under his heavy gaze.

"It matters not," Altaïr finally says as he rips his gaze away from me and turns towards Malik. "What business have you?" he asks Malik. Malik gives him a curious glance before finally tearing his gaze from us as well.

"The Master has called for us," Malik says nonchalantly again and those words make my heart clench so tight that tears actually pool at the corners of my eyes.

I may not know the man—not really anyways—and his appearance might have shattered any hope that this was—that we were past Altaïr's demotion but my heart aches at the thought of what Malik will have to go through in the following days.

Because somehow I know, without a doubt, that he will lose his baby brother on this mission.

I know that his mission will be to go to Solomon's Temple.

I move my gaze to my feet as tears well up into my eyes.

A little selfish—or would it be selfless—part of me wants me to beg Malik not to let Kadar—his brother—go with them on this mission. Wants to tell him Altaïr will get Kadar killed and cause him to lose his standing as a master assassin but I hold back because it must be done and I can't meddle.

Their story's already been written in the stars.

Who knows what will change in the future if Kadar doesn't die on this mission. It could be something inconsequential or it could be something horrible either way I mustn't change Desmond's future.

Because changing Desmond's future would be endangering the world,  _their_  world.

Cool, callous finger gently tilt my head up and the movement cause the building tears to fall and trail down my cheeks. Gold eyes meet mine while a pair of brown eyes watch confused as he too notices the tears.

 _'Tell him, tell him, tell him,'_  it's the chant that's swirling in my head as thoughts about what will soon happen fill my head and thoughts of Malik—whose only ever had his brother—join them as well. I know he suffered from the loss but the game never shows you just how much.

A picture of an armless Malik, slumped over a grave, and in tears brings more of them to my eyes.

Video games.

Made for entertainment, a distraction to pass the time, but like everything else—even if you try to deny it—you grow attached. The character's pain becomes yours and their deaths shake you to the core. Joker's death in  _Batman: Arkham City_  had been the worst I'd ever experienced.

It had been like a bullet through my heart. It had left me raw in so many ways and before I knew it I was a bawling blundering mess as I stared in horror at the television.

I had grown so close to the raving lunatic while playing the game. I looked forward to his tricks, I couldn't wait to fight him and his goons again but when I saw him stutter out his last breath my world had come to a screeching halt.

My heart had stopped beating and the tears had poured, unnoticed, from my eyes before I could register what had actually happened.

_You grow attached._

To you they become real and to see them die…it shatters your world and pulls the rug right out from under you.

I haven't been able to play the game ever since. It still lays, unfinished by my console and I don't think I'll ever be able to pick up the controller and play it again because Joker had been special. He meant more to me than anyone can ever know or realize and to see him die, to be the reason for his death…it fucked me up in all kinds of ways.

A thumb wipes away at the tears and I don't realize I've been pulled from Kenny's grip until a warm ( _kind,_   _soothing, comforting_ ) hand lands on my hip. His golden eyes bore into mine but I can't look into his because my eyes are drawn back to Malik.

This time he doesn't hide his curiosity as he openly stares at us.

"Go on ahead Malik, I will follow as soon as I have finished with…them," Altaïr says, hand still on my hip and thumb still wiping away tears. If Malik has any objection he doesn't voice them as he only bids Altaïr goodbye and walks to wherever it was he was headed.

The moment Malik is out of hearing range though all the comfort bleeds out from Altaïr's grip. Fingers dig into my hip and he tilts my chin up further, forcing me to look into his eyes and there's a dark look in that gaze that reminds me that this Altaïr will do whatever the fuck he wants.

"Tell me what you know."

His words don't startle me.

Hell, with how observant as he is, of course he would know I'm hiding something. I keep my mouth shut though and defiantly try look away but he doesn't let it go that easily. His fingers dig deeper into my hip, no doubt leaving behind bruise and I have no choice but to look at him as they continue to tighten.

"Tell me." Altaïr growls but I just quirk an eyebrow at him even as his hand tightens on my chin.

I want to tell him, I really,  _really_ , do because maybe that way he won't act like such a self-righteous bastard. Plus it hurts to know that soon Malik will lose his brother but sometimes you have to look at the big picture and that big picture is Desmond.

I have to make sure that, when the time comes, Desmond will be able to save the world, his world and I think saving billions of people is more important than one…no matter how much it may hurt….

And the best way to do that will be to get out of here, go home, close the 'fabric', and pretend none of this ever happened.

My heart gives a painful clench at that thought alone.

The fuck?

Why would thinking about leaving even hurt? It's only natural for me to go back to my own world, right? I can't stay behind, not when my family, my—few—friends and life are over there.

Who the fuck gives up their whole world for a man anyways? Not that the whole reason I want to stay behind is for him or anything. No, definitely not. I want to stay behind to help everyone out, right?

I'm jarred out of my increasingly weird thoughts—which I'm deciding right here, right now to ignore and never think about again—as Altaïr releases me. With surprising care he pulls away from me when he finally realizes that I'm not going to tell him anything.

My leg aches as I stand on it but it's not like I can go forever without feeling pain. Sometimes you just have to muscle through and with that thought I brush off Kenny's attempt to help me again and look expectantly at Altaïr.

His stupid bird got us into this mess so it's up to him to get us out.

"So, how are you getting us home?" I ask and Altaïr's gaze shifts up to the swirl that dangles above our heads as he realizes that I'm expecting him to do something about our situation.

I'm surprised no one has notice the swirl, actually—then again, no one looks up in his world unless they're Assassins. And even then no Assassin looks up when they're in their home turf.

He says nothing as Kenny and I also look up towards the swirl and I got to wonder how in the hell it was possible for all of us to survive that fall without any serious injury.

_'Video game logic, Jen. Video game logic.'_

When it comes to video game logic a person can throw themselves off a five-story building and land safely in a pile of hay just like a fat, Italian plumber can jump six feet in the air. Oh, and an evil little bird can be the cause of all your problems.

My last thought is punctuated by a loud  _'caw'_ and I can't help myself as I give the little fucker flying over head a middle finger salute.

Ken gasps as he sees what I'm doing but I ignore him and turn back Altaïr.

"The Master has called for me, this will have to wait until another time," he says and it takes a moment for the words to register but once they do I gawk at him.

I understand that pre-demotion Altaïr basically kissed the ground Al Mualim—the 'Master'—walked on but seriously? How can seeing what Al Mualim wants be more important than what just happened, all that he's witnessed? Then again, Al Mualim is the closest thing to a father Altaïr ever had even if he is the 'bad guy' of the story.

"Come." Altaïr calls as he begins to walk away.

Ken and I share a look. Then we follow Altaïr, with me limping badly. Kenny offers to help but I turn him down and together we trail after Altaïr as he leads us up to the Assassin's castle—because, really, it's a fucking castle and it's fucking beautiful.

It's a huge, looming stone building and as we walk up the small hill towards it I finally realize just how hot it is. It's the middle of the day here and it makes sense that it would be, seeing as The United States of America is kind of on the other side of the planet.

I take off my sweater as we walk and tie it around my waist but as we go I can't decide if it was a smart idea or not since the sun now bears down on the exposed skin of my arms. Many eyes are glued on us as we walk and by the time we reach the castle gates I deeply regret removing my sweater.

My outcast status has made me more than a little sensitive to scrutinizing stares and I know Kenny feels some of it too when he pulls the hood of his green sweater over his head.

When it comes to us, I'm the antisocial one and Kenny's just socially awkward. I hate being in crowds and around people and Kenny just doesn't know  _how_ to be around people. You can trace that right back to our childhoods.

Thing is, I don't know if I hate it or not, if being antisocial and addicted to video games got me Kenny, then how can I hate it?

I'd rather have one friend who means the world to me than to have a whole bunch that I don't really care for.

We pull stares as we walk into the castle and I'm sure the guards at the gate would have stopped us had Altaïr not held his hand out to stop their approach. I force myself to walk as normally as I can under the weight of all the Assassins' stares.

All of the people in the castle except Kenny and I are Assassins and it's a little unnerving.

We could both be killed in the blink of an eye and I don't think we'll respawn.

Video game or not.

We pass through the crowded courtyard in silence and my ankle throbs with every step but I bear it with gritted teeth. Something tells me I could easily become prey to these trained killers if I show any signs of weakness. Though I'm pretty sure they've already zeroed in on my injured leg I'd rather not be seen as the damsel in distressed that had to be carried in.

Men and women alike—though once again there's a lot more men than woman—dressed in traditional Assassin robes, fill the courtyard while boys and girls—ages ranging vastly from ten to eighteen—circled eagerly around the training ring in the center of the courtyard where a pair of boys fight.

Spar actually, and from the looks of it—thankfully—with wooden swords. The boys—obviously in their late teens—dodge, duck, and swing expertly. It looks almost like a dance as they perform learned maneuvers perfectly.

They're too evenly matched, it's noticeable in the way they counter each other flawlessly. They dodge, duck, and swing in sync and I can't tell if it's because of too much time spent practicing together or if they're both just that good but a part of me is betting on the former.

Cheers erupt from the watching crowd every time a hit is landed and even though the swords are wooden you can tell they're swung to cause damage.

_Old time rivals, eh?_

Their mentor—easily noticeable because he's the only one wearing Mentor robes in the group—stands proudly in front of the fighting ring. He occasionally cheers on the sparring boys and yells out advice as well. Neither looks any closer to winning though and it's beginning to look like the only way this fight will end is when they both tire out.

For some reason just that thought has a fire growing in my belly.

If their fucking mentor knows that they can't beat each other why does he still pin them against one another?

All he's doing is making them dislike each other more, not grow in skill and isn't the 'Brotherhood' all for one and one for all? How the fuck will they be able to abide by that when all they'll be thinking about is how the other thinks he's better? This is doing nothing but ruining any chance of them getting along.

Next thing you'll know they'll end up like…

 _Altaïr and Abbas_ _…_

And look how great that fucking turned out.

"Fucking retard is stunting their growth," I grumble angrily under my breath as I continue to watch the spar.

One of the boys, the taller of the two, swings at the same time his partner jabs his swords forward. A sharp crack fills the air, somehow still incredibly loud as it reaches me and I flinch.

Dear lord, that must have fucking hurt.

I quickly turn my gaze away while cheers erupt from the ones watching.

The boy's cry of pain is swallowed up by the cheers and I'm oddly thankful because I don't think I would have been able to keep myself from running over and cursing out the mentor if I had heard it. It's his job to train these novices but it's also his job to keep them safe and if he knows these rivals are a hair's breath away from causing each other serious injury why would he still make them fight?

I don't realize that I've actually stopped to stare at the fight—much less approached the training ring—until a hand lands on my shoulder.

A lightly tan hand pulls me from the scene and I go willingly because I seriously do not what to see how the boy ended up. It rubs me the wrong way that Mentors would do this to their students but there's nothing I can do about it.

So with a troubled heart, I follow as Altaïr leads us to a hidden door that I've never seen in the game. It's a wooden door kept out of sight from training equipment and I eye it curiously as we near it.

_Huh? Guess the game removes unnecessary objects._

A wall of cool—well, colder than outside—air hits us as we enter through the door and I bask in it.

The thick stone walls keep out the worst of the heat and I sigh in relief while Ken quickly removes his hood. We're definitely going to need more appropriate clothes if we're going to be here a while—which I really hope we're not. I mean, Kenny and I have work and I really don't feel like getting fired for missing a few days.

Altaïr leads us down the dark, cold corridor of the castle and as we take many twists and turns I begin to wonder if we'll ever make it back out and if there is the tiniest bit of a chance that Altaïr's doing this on purpose to make sure we don't know the way out. Before I can come to a decision on just what Altaïr is trying to do he comes to a stop in front of a wooden door.

_His quarters!_

It has to be but I don't ask as he leads us inside, instead I immediately sit onto the bed. My ankle still throbs and I slowly lift it onto the bed and take of my shoes with the hopes of alleviating some of the pain.

"Stay here, I will be back soon."

He doesn't wait for a response, just simply shuts the door behind him as he steps out of the room, leaving Kenny and I alone.

Silence stretches around us as we stare at each other in disbelief while the reality of our situation finally washes over us. A giggle escapes my lips before I can hold it back and even though I try to fight it, it’s soon followed by another one and another one until I'm howling on the bed with delirious laughter.

Kenny for his part just stares, eyes getting wider by the second until they're the size of saucers and his breath comes out in short pants.

"Well, aren't we fucked," I say around my laughter, ignoring Kenny's raising panic attack as I sprawl onto the bed.

"And it's all your fault," Kenny accuses, a fearful note to his tone and I nod my head thoughtfully.

"Yup." I agree as Kenny sits on the edge of the bed and buries his head in his hands. "I didn't mean to though, honest. Fuck, it wasn't even entirely my fault. The god damn bird pushed me in," I mutter. "Don't worry, we'll get back."

"How?" he groans and I roll my eyes at his melodramatic behavior.

"There  _is_  a way back, Ken, we just have to wait for Altaïr to get back so he can help us get back on top of that building without getting in trouble." I explain as I run a soothing hand across his back.

"Do we  _have_ to wait for him?"

"Yeah, kind of. I mean, you know the guards hate it when we jump across the roofs as  _Alta_ _ï_ _r._ Imagine how they'll react seeing two weirdly dress people scaling their homes." I explain and Kenny nods his agreement.

"You're right."

I stand once he's calmed down and test my leg out, adding different amounts of pressure to check the severity of it. It's not  _bad_  but it can easily get there if I'm not careful so I sit back on the bed.

Just my luck.

Of course I  _would_ get injured when there's an amazing world laid out in front of me to explore. Sure, I know this map like the back of my hand but just the thought of being able to experience everything first hand, to see the fountains and library in person makes me giddy.

Man, I bet the gardens look _amazing_.

The interior of Altaïr's room looks bleak though. There's not much in the way of décor and, other than the bed, there's only a dresser and a desk with its accompanying chair. The room looks unlived in, no knickknacks or personal possessions and it's kind of expected.

He spends so much time away, on missions, that I'm sure he doesn't spend much time here at all.

As I let my eyes run over the room, I pause at the basket of fruit on the desk. So many different types of fruit sit in the fruit basket, some of which I can't name but when I spot a red apple my gaze locks on it. It sits right on top of the others, a red beacon of deliciousness and I ignore the pain in my ankle as I limp over to it.

The first bite is wet, crunchy, juicy and I salivate uncontrollably as I munch on it.

"You know, I always did wonder just how Al Mualim managed to make Altaïr forget." Kenny mumbles as he lounges on the bed and I turn my gaze back to him now that I have my prize in my hand. He's the perfect picture of relaxation as he lays sprawled on the bed.

"Forget what?" I ask as I take a bite of the apple. Apples are delicious and this particular one tastes like heaven. I just wish I had some salt and lemon to go with it. Or at least some chili powder. Ken's eyes turn to me at the sound of a particularly wet crunch and I hold the apple out as an offering. "Want some?"

"No, thank you." Ken answers and I move back to the bed, clambering up onto it when I reach it. He doesn't speak while I find a comfortable position to sit in though once I do he explains. "I understand that in Video game logic we can survive that three-story fall without any severe injuries but how can a  _Master Assassin_ forget how to counter an attack? I'm pretty sure that he's known that move for years now and it should have become second nature too, so just  _how_?"

His question catches me off guard and I freeze mid-bite and stare back at him with wide eyes.

He has a point.

Just what did Al Mualim  _do_ to Altaïr to make him forget? Altaïr's parents were both Assassins and he would have grown up in these walls surrounded by the Assassin's teaching. Training everyday may not seem like the ideal way to spend your time but I don't doubt that's how an Assassin's life would have led.

Countering is a basic move, which is why it's one of the first moves you get back but because it's also basic it should be one of the first moves Assassins would learn in training so,  _how_?

Al Mualim is not a wizard as far as I know—even though he kind of has the beard for it—so how did he manage to wipe Altaïr's memories of the training, of how to counter and dodge?

Demotion is one thing but how do you make someone forget…

How do you make someone experience death's embrace while still being perfectly healthy and alive?

The answer comes to me in a bolt of shocking realization.

My hand goes limp, the apple falls, and I watch as it bounces almost mockingly on the bed. I stare at it in horror as it rolls towards me and scrabble to get away from it even though I know the fear is irrational. This is just a fucking apple.

A delicious round fruit that grows in trees but to my mind's eye it's so much more.

It's why Adam and Eve were cast out.

What parted the Red Sea.

How water was turned into wine.

"The apple! He's going to use the apple to fuck with Altaïr's mind!"

 

 


	5. Ch 4

 

"The Apple?"

It's an honest question, not doubtful or condescending and I turn wide eyes towards Kenny as he sits up on the bed.

"Yes, the Apple. That god damn Apple," I hiss and I snatch the red apple off the bed. With a huff I launch it across the room and don't look to see where it lands as I keep my attention on Kenny. "The whole fucking reason behind fucking _everything_ in this universe."

"Wait, I thought the Apple didn't work on Altaïr?"

"It doesn't, at least not fully," I explain and when Kenny gives me a confused look I continue, "Remember, in the game, when you get to the final boss? When you have to fight Al Mualim?" I ask and Kenny nods his head. "Remember how Al Mualim was able to pin Altaïr down with the Apple's power and hell; you remember how he made us fight all the Templars we killed?"

"Yeah."

"He admitted right then and there that he did try to control Altaïr mentally but that when he took away Altaïr's free will, his skills as an Assassin came with it and he couldn't have that because he needed Altaïr to kill the Templars," I say and when Kenny's eyebrows draw together in confusion I know he's not getting it. "The Apple does work on Altaïr, it can control him physically and show him illusions and control him mentally. It's not the Apple that doesn't work, it's Altaïr."

"Altaïr doesn't work?"

"Nope!"

Silence envelopes us for a bit until Kenny let's out an exasperated groan and flops back onto the bed.

"Jen, you're not making much sense." Ken mutters and I stare at him in surprise until I realize that I'm really not. At least not to someone like him—a non-gamer. To me—a gamer—it all makes perfect sense. Nothing of what I just said is confusing in the least but to him I'm talking in riddles.

"How can Altaïr not 'work'?"

"Altaïr doesn't work because he can see _through_ the illusions," I say and flop back onto the bed myself. "You see, in this universe humans were created for the sole reason of being slaves for the First Civilization. The Apples were then created to control them. So what good is a slave that can look through the illusions? And when you think in those terms, well, Altaïr's the one that doesn't work."

"It can still physically control him though, so he must be good for something."

"Yeah, I guess though it might not be for much," I mutter. "He can see through the illusions so I'm betting he can break the mind control if he tries to fight it. The only thing the physical manipulation would be good for is to stop him before he can kill you."

"Kill you?"

"Do you really think he'd take kindly to being enslaved?"

"True," Ken agrees and silence envelopes us once again. I let it because I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. "So how does Al Mualim do it? How does he make him forget?"

"I'm not sure, actually. The most logical answer would be the Apple but Altaïr's going to be traveling to Jerusalem and Acre and Damascus and I doubt the Apple's influences would reach that far," I answer. "The only way to know for sure if it is the Apple's influence is to give him a sword after his demotion and make him counter an attack."

"I don't think that would be a smart idea," Ken says and I rise to my elbows to give him a curious look.

"Why not?"

"Well, if it is the Apple's influences don't you think Altaïr might be a little concern that he can't remember how to properly fight?" Ken asks and I nod my head in agreement as I lay back down. "I don't know about you but I don't want to have to explain to him why he can't even counter."

"Yeah, you have a point and it's not like we _can_ explain it to him anyways," I say. "We definitely _cannot_ change anything."

"We can't?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Seriously, Ken? Don't you know the first rule of time traveling?" I ask, exasperated as I once again sit up to look at him.

"But we didn't travel through time. We traveled to an alternate universe."

"Yes, we did, but since we already know the future of this universe—who lives, who dies, and who killed Mister Burns—we technically did time travel. We also know that this world is in impending danger and that a gigantic solar flare might just wipe out all civilization and the only person that might have a chance at stopping it is Desmond."

"What does that have to do with telling Altaïr that Al Mualim is using him to accomplish his evil plans?" Ken asks as he too sits up.

"You should already know! Come on, you're supposed to be the smart one," I snap, crossing my arms across my chest. "It's called the Butterfly Effect, remember? There's no telling what could happen if we reveal to Altaïr that Al Mualim is using him so early in the game. Really, Ken you're acting borderline idiotic. What the hell's going on with you?"

"I don't know," he says with a shrug and I watch as he gets up and stretches. "I just feel like we should be talking this out for some reason. Like there's a mass of people listening in on us that need us to explain every little detail of everything so they can follow along."

His words throw me for a loop and all I can do is stare at him as he finishes stretching and walks over to the apple still on the floor. I keep watching him as he scoops it up and dumps it in the trash can next to the desk.

A mass of people?

I think I'm just going to ignore that one.

"So," I say and clear my throat. "What, uh, what now?"

"Like you said, we wait for Altaïr to get back," Ken says as he grabs another apple off the basket and plops back down on the bed. "And no I will not go exploring with you so don't even think about asking," he says around a bite.

"But Ken, waiting is so boring!"

"Patience is a virtue, Jen."

"Ugh, you sound like such an adult right now."

"I'm twenty-five, Jen. I _am_ an adult."

I don't reply to that, I don't know _how_ to reply to that so instead I focus on the stone ceiling above us while Kenny eats his apple.

There's no telling how long Altaïr will be and as the silence envelopes us again I feel my palms itch with the _need_ to do something.

I'm not used to not doing anything; having come from a world filled with technology there never is a moment where I have nothing to occupy myself with. There's always something to fiddle with, some game to play, and some message to reply to. There's always something to do so I have no idea how to spend this sudden free time.

I don't know how long I lay there, blankly staring at the stone ceiling but at some point Kenny dozes off. As his quiet snores fill the air I'm reminded that it's only early morning back home and yet I feel exhausted.

Guess dimension travel takes a lot out of a person.

I don't fight it as my eyelids begin to droop and Ken's quiet snores lull me to sleep.

~oOo~

A flash of orange against an inky darkness. A transparent hand. She beckons me forward.

An orange glow, a plea sounds. The darkness lifts, a city appears. Humans mingle and fire. Fire looms in the distance.

There isn't much time as the fire grows. The humans continue unaware as it surges forward. Harsh and unforgiving and I watch.

I watch as the world burns. Buildings fall, people scream, the ground cracks.

_It's the end._

And then suddenly it isn't. The world shifts, the flames retreat, the buildings stand, and she beckons me forward.

A ghostly figure that casts an orange glow. She stands before me in billowing white robes. There's a plea on her lips as she urges me to follow.

Fire looms in the distance once more. Growing. Time is non-existent as I watch as fire surges forward again.

It's a cycle. The world will continue to burn, people will continue to scream, the buildings will fall again.

_It's the end._

She stands before me yet again as the flames retreat. A smile on her lips as the world shifts and the buildings stand once more.

_As the humans rebuild._

She beckons me forward with a wave of a transparent hand. And this time I follow.

We walk through one of the many cities that will fall, over ground that will crack again. The fire still looms in the distance. Growing.

_The end is near._

She brings me to a spear. A glowing ball and beckons me towards it.

A white glow, a plea on her lips. The fire grows.

It surges forward but this time it doesn't burn. People don't scream, buildings don't fall.

_The end doesn't come._

As I lay a hand on the sphere

_The eye._

~oOo~

"Jen!"

"Wha?"

I flail, jerking from the harsh grip on my shoulder and the insistent shaking. The world tilts before my bleary gaze as I scuttle away in a confused panic and end up scuttling clear off the bed. I land in a heap on the cold stone floor and frantically try to make sense of the situation.

The anxious edge in the voice my sleep addled mind instantly recognized as Ken's, fuels my panic and I hastily push myself on to my hands and knees. That's as far as I get though as I struggle to figure out just what is going on as I search the room dumbly through my still hazy gaze.

There's nothing though, the room is still the same barren stone room I fell asleep in, albeit a little darker.

What the hell?

Warm hands haul me up after the shock of my violent reaction wears off and I don't struggle as Ken sets me back onto the bed.

"Ken? What's going on?" I ask, voice thick with sleep as I rub my eyes tiredly. Ken gives me a worried once over before shaking his head.

"Altaïr's back, Jen. We've got to go," Ken says and I just sit there for a bit as I process his words. Ken just stares back as my brain works to shake off sleep's embrace, though when a yawn over takes him I note that he's still trying to wake up completely himself. "Jen?"

"I gotcha, I'm coming," I mumble around a yawn as I start to tug my shoes on. It's as I do, that I note Altaïr standing by the door and I give him a small smile as I stand to stretch. "God, how long did we sleep?" I ask Kenny as most of my joints crack.

"Not sure. Check your phone."

"Can't, left it behind."

"Like always," Ken mumbles and I turn to him as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. "Crap, the screen's cracked," he curses. "Phone's dead," he says regretfully as he runs his fingers along the screen. "I'll have to fix it when we get home."

"Right, home," I mumble and give Altaïr an expectant look.

He nods his head and motions for us to follow him. My ankle throbs dully with every step as we make our way through the stone halls. It's not bad, easily ignored really as Altaïr leads us back out to the dark courtyard. The sun has gone down some time ago, encasing most of the courtyard in darkness that candles desperately try to push back.

There's shadows in every corner and as we walk towards the gate I can't pretend that this castle, tall and looming, doesn't feel sinister, menacing. It's a place full of Assassin's—murders really—blindly following a corrupt and demented leader.

_'This place is dangerous.'_

A cold chill goes up my spine as we exit the still crowded courtyard and I give it one last parting glance as we exit the front gate and start down the hill. People still mingle in the city as we make our way towards the swirl and I try to pretend they're not staring at us as we go.

"So what are we going to do about that?" I ask Kenny as we walk along the dirt path and point towards the swirl I can already see above one of the houses. "Hell, how are we going to get through it without getting hurt? There's no video game logic to help use there."

"I knew we were forgetting something," Ken mumbles as a thoughtful look crosses his features. "How did Altaïr do it anyways? He went through without a scratch."

"That we know of. He took the ceiling with him, Ken. I'm pretty sure he hurt something," I say and turn my gaze back to Altaïr who walks leisurely in front of us. He doesn't say a word as we go, or even look at us but there's no doubt in my mind that he's listening to every word we're saying. "Then again he spends most of his time running across roofs and jumping off them. He's probably been trained on what to do if one gives way under him."

"Hmm, well we could just jump through and hope for the best," Ken offers and I pause mid-step to give him a disbelieving look.

"Please tell me you're not being serious."

"Well, if we want to get home…we're going to have to jump," he says with a shrug as he stops to stand in front of me. I just stare at him before turning my gaze up towards the swirl. "And pray to whoever's listening that we don't break anything."

"You're asking me to jump off three stories, you know that right?" I ask as I continue to gaze up at the swirl. We're right under it now, well, we're standing next to the building under it and even though it's night I easily can make out our feather friend in the dark night sky.

"Think of it as a leap of faith."

"That's not funny, Altaïr," I hiss and turn to glare at him. He's leaning against the wall looking as if he hasn't a care in the world and I want nothing more than to chuck something at him. "The rules of physics actually exist in my world," I snap and ignore the confuse look on his face as I turn back to Ken. "I'm not jumping."

"Then I guess we're stuck here," Ken says with another shrug and I glare at him. "What do you want me to do, Jen? If we want to go home we're going to have to jump."

Ken's the smartest person I know but child genius or not sometimes he can be really stupid. Epecially if he really thinks I'm going to jump just because he tells me too.

There has to be another way.

"Rope! What if we get rope and—"

"The current's too strong. It would just drag whoever's holding it in with us."

"Then tie it to something. A tree!"

"At that speed, it would put too much pressure on the rope and cause it to snap. Which could result in serious injury or it might even take the tree with us. Too risky."

"Then throw some fucking hay through it to at least cushion the impact!" I snap, throwing my hands in the air. "That way I won't have to be _too_ worried about breaking my neck!" I yell, continuing to curse up a storm. But, when I spot the thoughtful look on Kenny's face, I pause. "What?"

"That might actually work," he says quietly. There's no doubt that scenarios are running through his head as he continues, "It would have to be quite an amount of hay since we won't know exactly how it'll land or if it'll even land where we need it. If we send in bales the current is likely to tear them apart and spew the hay everywhere so it's going to need to be _a lot_ and clean up is going to be a bit difficult…but it might work."

"How many bales?" Altaïr asks as he pushes off the wall.

"I'm not sure. It depends how much each bale weighs. The bigger they are the less we'll need. Hmmm, how about a cart full? Seeing as, most likely, only about twenty percent of the hay will fall through the hole and to the living room."

"A cart? Are you sure?" I ask a little doubtful but Ken nods fervently.

"Yes. One cart should do it. What does make it through the hole will spread out across the living room. And the chandelier is still there so we have to get it sufficiently covered so we won't hurt ourselves on it," he says as he continues to nod. "Yes, a cart full of hay bales, please."

"Fine, come this way," Altaïr says as he starts walking again. He starts down the dirt path again without waiting to see if we're following after him or not. He's confident in the fact that we will and, really, we don't have a choice.

"Wait, where are we going?" I ask as Kenny and I scramble after him.

"To the stables."

~oOo~

"A cart? Are you sure, sir?" A boy in his late teens asks, nervously cracking his fingers as he stares up at Altaïr. And I don't blame him for his nervousness since he obviously knows just _what_ Altaïr is.

Having a Master Assassin in front of them is bound to make anyone from this universe nervous.

"Yes and be quick about it."

Especially since Altaïr's doing nothing to seem less intimidating. He stands tall, shoulder back, hood on and the boy scampers off at his words, stumbling a bit as he goes. It's a sign to just how nervous he is that he doesn't comment or stare at Kenny and me.

And that's another thing I had not seen in this game, children. Well, not until _Assassin's Creed III._ Oh and stables! Those don't appear till _Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood._ Guess the developers of the game really did remove things they deemed useless.

The stables sit right outside the gates of Masyaf. In that little patch of grass where all the horses loiter and as I run my gaze over the woodwork I can't help but think that it's a damn shame it wasn't included in the game.

Lanterns hang from the walls, lighting the stable and as I let my gaze roam over the wooden saddles and leather bridles I can't help but wish to see the rest of this world. I want to look at everything first hand, to count the differences and similarities.

I want to _explore_ and it's a damn shame that I can't.

The sound of wood creaking and groaning pulls my attention back to the stable doors just as a cart pulls into view and the boy hops off it. That was fast, really fast. How did he load all those bales that fast? And by himself?

I keep my surprise hidden though as the boy approaches us.

"Alright, all set," the boy says and Altaïr nods once, tossing the boy a coin and exits the stables without another word. The boy watches us now, with Altaïr retreating so do his nerves. There's no mistaking the curiosity on his face as he watches us go. He, intelligently, keeps quiet though.

Altaïr hops onto the cart as soon as he reaches it, once again paying us little mind as he grabs the reins. He does wait for us though and when we reach the cart he holds a hand out for me to take.

Seems he does have a semblance of manners.

"Up you go," Ken says as I take Altaïr's hand and all but shoves me up onto the cart. "I'll walk besides you guys," he continues as I notice the lack of space left on the bench, especially since Altaïr has to more or less sit in the middle to steer probably.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm good but we better hurry," he warns as Altaïr snaps the reins and the horse—a brown one that nickers the whole way—starts a slow pace. "Your parents will be up soon—if they aren't already—and I prefer we have enough time to clean up before your mom wakes up and murders us."

His words send a cold chill up my spine. I nod my head in agreement. We continue in silence, the only noise the quiet _clip-clop_ of hooves on dirt and the groaning of aging wood. Ken keeps pace with us as we go, not that we're going terribly fast anyways.

"How are we going to get the bales up though," I ask, breaking the silence once we reach the swirl. Altaïr surprises me by answering.

"We'll have to hoist them up with rope," he says as he hops off the cart. He once again offers me his hand that I take without a thought. "There should be a ladder leaning against the wall over there that will take you to the roof. Climb it and wait," he says pointing behind me once I'm down from the cart.

"I'll toss up some rope. Grab it and hook it around that," he continues, pointing up. Looking, I can only just make out a synchronization ledge. "And then drop it back down, alright?"

"Why don't we just take the rope up with us and drop it down to you?" I ask and Altaïr gives me a surprised look before giving me a nod.

"That would be better," he agrees, handing Ken a large coil of rope he must have grabbed from the stables. "Toss it down when you have it going around the board. I will tie one bale at a time and hoist it up. You two do the rest."

"Sounds like a plan," I say and follow Ken as he makes his way towards the rickety wooden ladder leaning against the wall. "I don't know how safe that is though," I tell Kenny as I grab its edges and place my foot on the first step. "If it falls apart and I break my neck—"

"No, I will not find you a husband and I will not tell him you love him," Ken says without missing a beat as he slips an arm through the coil. "Now would you please hurry up, I would like to go home soon."

"Kill joy."

I climb the ladder without another word and make it to the roof with no incident or complications. Though no lights from the torches reach this high up. It calls for the utmost caution. Carefully I turn back to help Ken haul up the coil. He grunts as I pull it over the ledge and collapses dramatically onto the roof once he's over it.

"That is surprisingly heavy," he says as he nudges the coil of rope. I just shrug as I pull him to his feet. "Maybe we should have let him toss it up."

"Well, too late now and like you said, we don't have much time so come on. We're almost done," I mutter as I take careful, measured steps to the ledge and towards the synchronization point. "Well, with the first part," I amend as I toss half the rope over one side of the board and half over the other. "We still have to jump through and then there's clean up."

Kenny groans and I chuckle quietly as we wait for Altaïr to lift the first bale of hay. From up here we can make him out clearly, especially since he stands directly under one of the lit torches. So we find out, as the first bale comes up, that it's not going to be as easy as we thought.

"Maybe I should go down there and help him," Ken grunts out as he lifts the first bale over the ledge and unties it. "Each one ways about seventy pounds, maybe more," he says as he pushes the bale away from the ledge. Letting the rope drop back down as he does.

"You can't. I need you up here," I say as I try my best to pick up the bale and throw it through the swirl. "As much as I hate to admit it, I don't have the stamina to pull them over the ledge all by myself," I groan as I toss the first bale into the swirl. "Or to get them all through."

Ken says nothing, just grunts his agreement and continues hauling bales over the ledge. It's slow going. More than once I have to shoo an irritated bird away as it squawks angrily at us for using its perch. For the most part we ignore it and I toss as many bales through as I can without their help.

Though once all the bales are up Ken helps me continue to throw bale after bale into the swirl. Altaïr joins us not too long after even though there's no doubt that he's exhausted—he had the most grueling task after all. And when the last bale goes we all sag in relief.

"Clean up is going to be a bitch," I mutter as I collapse, sprawling out on the roof in exhaustion. Kenny throws himself next to me with a groan and nods in agreement.

"We should go through soon," he mumbles, hand tiredly rubbing at his face. "It took longer than I thought it would to get everything through. Your mother's probably up and having a fit already," he says and this time I groan.

"I don't know about that. She's probably going crazy trying to figure out why it's raining hay in her house. The fit will come after she's found the source, while she's strangling us."

"She won't strangle us. She'll need us alive if she wants us to clean up the mess."

"We're going to have to sweep and vacuum and mop and dust. God, I'm tired just thinking about it."

"Told you we should have just jumped," Kenny mumbles as he gets to his feet. Break time's over, now it's time for part two. "I'll go first. See if it's safe or not," he says as he cautiously nears the swirl. "Don't jump until I say so."

"And how will I even know?" I ask as I climb to my feet as well. My muscles throb in protest as I stand. I don't blame them since I've given them quite the workout.

"I'll toss something in, like a note or your phone."

"Don't you dare."

"Why? You hardly use it anyways," he says with a shrug. He flashes a smile my way before turning back to face the swirl head on. "Jen, if I don't toss anything back—"

"Don't worry, you will," I say, beating back the lump I can already feel lodging in my throat. "Take a leap of faith, Ken."

I don't know what drives me to say the words but Kenny gives me a determined nod and races through the swirl. He's gone in a flash, too fast for my eyes to make out as the current swallows him up. One moment he's standing there and the next he's vanished.

It makes you wonder how fast the swirl's current actually is.

I stare—well, glare at it really as I wait for any sign from Kenny. It's much the same as the one back home—a multitude of colors that are overshadowed by the blues. It sits ( _floats?_ ) in the middle of the roof but the roof isn't that big so it's easy to see why we flew over the ledge when we went through.

We're just lucky we landed in a cart full of hay.

"Is your mother truly that horrible?"

Altaïr voice startles me and I flinch in surprised because I'd forgotten all about him. I turn to find him sitting on the ledge, looking down at the cart and horse below us. He sits there in a simple, short sleeved tunic, having abandoned his Master Assassin coat some time ago because, even at night, the temperatures can be punishing.

"Mom? No, she's the best," I say, flicking my gaze back to swirl. There's still no sign from Ken and I have to fight to keep the growing panic at bay.

"The way you two speak of her says otherwise," he says, gaze still on the horse. A small part of me wonders if he's afraid someone might make off with it. Surely he doesn't have to worry about that in his own city…does he?

"Mom would have us wrapped in blankets and sipping hot chocolate the second we got home if she knew any of this," I answer truthfully because she would, right after she'd taken us to get our heads examined, of course. "She'd fuss and question and check us over from head to toe. All while dad stands over us, demanding the names of anyone that hurt us."

"Then why do you make it sound as if you fear her?" he asks finally turning his gaze my way. I meet it head on.

"Because she can be vicious when she needs to be."

What Altaïr's response to that is, I don't know because just as I turn my attention back to the swirl, a ball flies through. It's pure luck that I turn in time to catch it before it hits me. I internally curse Ken even though it obviously wasn't his intention to hit anyone.

"Well, that's my cue," I say heart racing as the reality of having to take a three story plunge hits me. It's one thing to tell someone to jump; it's another thing entirely to make the jump yourself. My heart races as I approach the swirl.

Altaïr stands from the ledge and watches as I go, ball ridiculously clutched to my chest as if it'll give me the strength I need to jump. I can tell exactly when the adrenaline hit's my body. My legs begin to shake, time slows to a crawl, and I open my big mouth without thinking.

"Kadar!"

I blame the adrenaline.

It's the only thing I can blame other than evident stupidity.

Altaïr's in front of me in an instant. With a glare that seems almost annoyed on his face. I would have laughed if I wasn't shaking like a leaf. Not because I'm scared of him, of course. More because the words I so desperately want to tell him—but _really_ shouldn't tell him—are stuck in my throat and trying to crawl their way out.

I shouldn't tell him.

I really, _really_ shouldn't.

"T-the mission, on the mission," I stutter out, words still stuck in my throat by indecision. I was the one who said we couldn't change anything, right? But it's just Kadar, right? How much would change if I keep him alive? "You can't—he mustn't—"

_A lot._

Without him there won't be anyone to distract the Templars while Malik sneaks off with the apple. Without him, Malik could very well die down there, in the temple. Without him the Templars would keep the apple. Without Kadar there wouldn't be an _Assassin's Creed I_.

I can't tell him.

I can't save him.

I run.

Without another word, without another glance at that annoyed glare, I push past him and make the jump.


	6. Ch 5

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you or will I have to drag it out of you?”

Ken voice cuts across the cool autumn air, shattering the illusion of peace and tranquility the gray, dewy morning offers. My only response to him, though, is an aggravated grunt as I heave a bulky bag into the bed of father’s black truck. It’s one bag among many we’ve managed to fill up with hay that will be taken to the dump as soon as we finish cleaning the last of the mess we’ve made.

Thankfully, it’s earlier than we thought it’d be and there’s no sign of Mother or Father waking. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” I grunt out between clenched teeth as I turn on my heel and all but stomp back inside. The whole place is covered in a layer of dust and I bring out the vacuum and duster as I fight back the need to sneeze uncontrollably.

“Could have fooled me,” Ken mutters as he takes the vacuum and proceeds to go over the couches and rug. “Come on, spill. I know there’s something wrong and I would prefer you tell me before you end up having a full blown fit.”

I clench my teeth to keep in all the curses trying to get out and start dusting. I hum as I go, it’s angry tune that’s swallowed up by the roar of the vacuum. This is far from over, Ken will continue to question until I talk so I use the forced stop in conversation to try to blow off some of my anger.

Though humming angrily is not the fastest way to do it.

So, when the vacuum goes off, I’m no less angry than when it turned on. All noise dies down—not that there was much to begin with—as the Ken takes the duster from my hand and forces me to face him. His hands are tight on my shoulders pinning me in my spot as he quietly demands an explanation.

“Wha—”

“What the fuck is he doing here!?”

Ken actually jumps away from me at my yell. Obviously he wasn’t expecting it and I would have laughed if I wasn’t so utterly livid. But I am, so instead I turn and glare at where Altaïr stands, broom clutched tightly in his hands. It’s evident that my yell caught him off guard too as his head whips around to stare at me.

“After all that bullshit, he follows us right back home,” I snap and snatch the duster out of Kenny hands. He lets it go easily in his surprise and it’s the only thing that saves him from my wrath as I glare Altaïr. “Don’t you have something better to do? Like going to Jerusalem or falling into a ditch?”

I can’t see Altaïr’s eyes from under his hood but I’m sure they’re wide in surprise as he stares quietly back at me. Ken clears his throat awkwardly and his hand latches onto the back of my shirt before I can launch myself at Altaïr in anger.

Not that I was going to at the moment but Ken knows there’s a chance that I just might.  

“Now, Jen—”

“No! Screw all of this!” I yell, glare still firmly planted on Altaïr as I threateningly point the duster at him. “Why aren’t you on the way to Jerusalem? Or resting so you and Malik and Kadar can make the trip to Solomon’s Temple? Why in Yavanna’s green earth are you here!?”

“Yavanna?”

“Hobbit reference, keep up.”

“Am I not allowed to visit your world?”

“No, you’re not!” I snap, anger coming to a boiling point as I stomp my foot childishly. “You’re supposed to stay in your own world and do whatever the fuck it is Al Mualim orders you to do. Not go jumping into alternate dimensions and fucking up everybody’s day.”

“Okay, Jen, that’s enough,” Ken yelps, hands grabbing a hold of my shoulders again as he all but shoves me out of the front door. I don’t fight him as he steers me towards the driveway and forces a pair of keys into my hands. “Why don’t you go for a ride, take a breather. Go dump the hay while Altaïr and I will finish up here, okay?”

I don’t reply or turn to look at Kenny as I climb into the truck and start the engine. I just ease the truck out of the driveway and down the road before I can think about running back into the house and giving Altaïr a piece of my mind.

I mean, seriously. I can’t think of any acceptable reason for him to be here when he obviously has things to take care of in his own world. At least I think he does, Al Mualim did call for him and Malik after all and it couldn’t have been for nothing.

Hell, I was ninety-nine percent sure it was to discuss them making the trip to Solomon’s Temple and retrieving the ‘ _Templar’s Treasure_ ’—the twice damn apple. But then again, he is the master and practically raised Altaïr so it wouldn’t—shouldn’t be unusual for him to call Altaïr in for a talk. It’s the Malik bit that had me certain this was going to be the talk about that particular mission.

But then again, while he is obviously pre-demotion Altaïr there’s no way of knowing just when exactly the swirl opened up in his timeline. The mission could be weeks, months, or even years away from this current point to be honest. The only way to be sure would be to ask Altaïr what year it is though even then we won’t know exactly when Al Mualim will send Altaïr to get the apple.

The video game never told you what month it took place in his time.

I mutter a curse as I drive, steering one-handed while I chew on the nails of my other hand. Music blares from the speakers and I turn it up in an attempt to drown out my thoughts. I’m supposed to be clearing my head, not thinking about all the reason why I should yell at Altaïr till he goes home, especially since he has been nothing but helping.

If it wasn’t for the extra pair of hands we might still be stuck cleaning the house.

For all that I’m upset that he has wandered into my life—breaking Mother’s chandelier and smashing through the ceiling—and then came gallivanting back without so much as a by your leave when he was finally where he belonged, he’s helped without being asked.

In fact, he’s been a little _too_ helpful…

~oOo~

Sometimes I wonder how I get into these situations.

When I lay down in bed after a long, hectic day, as I rest sore muscles and stare up at the ceiling, I can’t help by ask myself, “How did I get myself into _that_?” And as I walk into my house with Kenny at my side, having returned from grabbing a change of clothes at his house for Altaïr since he refuses to go home, along with some tech Ken needs for one reason or another I know that tonight will be one of those nights.

The scene we walk into is nerve-wracking to say the least and I screech to a halt before I can take another step inside as three pairs of equally confused eyes turn our way. All noise stops. Ken’s voice cutting off abruptly as he too spots the three figures huddled curiously around the down chandelier we hadn’t bother to move before we had left to Ken’s.

And it’s all because I’d been so distracted by Kenny as he explained—using words I couldn’t possibly understand but desperately tried to grasp—his guess behind just what could have rip the fabric of time and space that I’d forgotten what time it is.

That I hadn’t realized just what the rising sun—well up into the sky at this point and promising a warm sunny day—would mean. It’s also because I’m hardly up when the sun is that I’d forgotten that the house would be bustling with activity. So when we burst in through the door in our normal excited manner it draws many eyes but that isn’t what holds them.

No, it’s the tall, handsome _(that’s right, I said it)_ man trailing in after us. All conversation cuts off violently and eyes once filled with confusion widen in surprise because it’s not every day that Jennifer Hernandez brings a friend other than Kenny Chase home.

The broken chandelier is all but forgotten, left to lie uselessly on the floor because in less than it takes to blink Father and Mother are before us.

And they’re a sight to see.

This is what I get for being anti-social, honestly. I mean, if I had just brought people home more often this situation wouldn’t warrant such attention.

Mother stands with her back straight and a wide smile on her cherry red lips. She’s always been a fan of the 1950’s style and in this instant she looks every bit like your typical 1950’s mother. Her long blonde hair is pulled into a neat bun, pearls wrap gracefully around her neck, and she’s wearing a beautiful pastel blue dress that flows at the waist, completed with a frilly white apron.

Mother’s can be embarrassing sometimes.

Oh, but then there’s Father and if someone could die of embarrassment I’d be six feet under by now. All he’s wearing is a pair of navy blue sweats, his shaggy brown hair looks like a rat’s nest on his head and yet he stands as proud and tall as Mother. Father’s always been the athletic type so I give thanks to the lord above for this small miracle; it would have been even more embarrassing to introduce a _Master Assassin_ to a flabby Father.

Especially if Father tries to be intimidating…

Ken’s eyes lock onto my parents a bit fearfully and I don’t blame him. If Altaïr weren’t here we’d probably be getting the scolding of a lifetime for the broken chandelier. But he is and my parents’ eyes are locked onto their target so he offers them a small smile and then, as quiet as a field mouse, he scampers off. 

He abandons me with nothing more than a nod and I gape after him as he all but races towards big brother, dashing behind him and into dining room before anyone can call after him. Leaving me to dig myself out of this mess alone.

_Traitor!_

Big brother peers after him curiously before following him with a shrug. Though I don’t miss the way his green eyes linger on Altaïr, or more specifically the leather vambraces hiding a certain blade Altaïr had refused to part with, before he makes it into the dining room.  

He recognizes it, he may not realize exactly _what_ it is but he knows enough to understand that it’s a piece of armor out of place in this day and age.

We had all but tried to wrestle from him, going so far as beg _(please understand there’s no need for that here)_ and scold _(I don’t give a rat’s ass how old you are, you are under our watch and will do as we so say, now give it here)_ and threaten _(I swear to sweet baby Jesus if you don’t hand it over this instant I will send you home)_ before finally conceding when he gave us his word that he wouldn’t use it without getting the go-ahead from us first.

A go-ahead that will never come, of course. 

Voices float out of the dining room not too long after big brother disappears into it, peacefully breaking the silence.

“Jen, honey, who’s this?”

Mother’s voice, sweet and soft, breaks the stalemate between us and I peek behind me to see Altaïr waiting patiently for me to do something. I meet his expectant gaze from under the hood of his borrowed sweater and try to ignore the may my hearts races as I all but drink him.  

Changing him into modern day clothing had not been a good idea on my part.

It was one thing to see him, dark and menacing, in his loose fitting assassin robes it’s another thing entirely to see him in the form fitting clothes of this era. I’ve never seen a man looks so hot in a pair of dark wash jeans in all my life especially since the just hug his a—

“Alexander.”

Father’s voice, strong and sure as he introduces himself brings me out of my thoughts and it’s with a mortified blush that I realize I’ve been ogling this man in front of my parents! A quiet snicker reaches my ears and I give Mother a small glare as I try to pretend my face isn’t on fire.

My mortification is soon forgotten though as I watch Father hold his hand out in front of him while the other wraps around my mother’s thin waist to drag her into his side.

“And this is my wife, Anna,” he says proudly—overly proud if you ask me—while still holding his hand out towards Altaïr.

My breath gets stuck in my throat as I wait for Altaïr to grab his hand because I’m not too sure if he even will. I don’t know what the proper greeting procedure in 1191 Jerusalem was and I hold my breath as I wait to see how Altaïr will react.

It seems like silly thing to worry, I’m sure, but when you take into account just _who_ and _what_ he is, it doesn’t see so silly anymore. I’m not too sure Assassins like being touched. In his world, the only times he touches _anyone_ is when he’s three seconds away from shoving a blade into them.

“Altaïr.”

His voice is as calm and cool as ever when he, thankfully, grabs Father’s hand without missing a beat. He gives it a firm shake and suddenly I remember that nobody’s supposed to understand him because he’s speaking Arabic and he isn’t supposed to understand them either.

_The hell?_

But it’s just a name right? No matter the language, a name always sounds the same, right?

“ _Altaïr,_ what a beautiful name,” Mother coos as she slips from Father’s grasp and offers Altaïr a hand shake of her own and, after giving Altaïr a kind smile, heads into the dining room herself. “Kenneth Chase, you’ll be in a lot of trouble if you touch that cookie jar,” Mother scolds before she’s even in the dining room and I shake my head in exasperation. I swear, Mother really does have eyes in the back of her head and I giggle when I hear Kenny’s disappointment groan. “Food first, young man.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mother may have dismissed us but Father’s gaze is still lock on Altaïr and I brace myself for whatever may come out of his mouth because I know he’s not done yet. Father’s smart, overly so; he can almost give Kenny a run for his money and as his cool calculating gaze runs over us I suddenly become aware of just how close Altaïr is to me. I can feel the heat of his body on my back and I know Father has realized it too when a mischievous grin spreads across his lips.

He’s also incredibly immature.

“Why don’t you join us for breakfast, son,” Father says calmly and I can feel the dread pooling in my stomach as Father doesn’t give Altaïr a chance to respond and simply begins to lead the way to the dining room. Father will not be taking no for an answer and I give Altaïr a small, shy smile before I motion for him to follow Father. “Anna, honey, please set another plate for Jennifer and her boyfriend.”

_Oh dear god, please let him still not understand English!_

My cheeks color instantly and I collapse into the closet chair while burying my face into my hands.

Dear lord! This man!

I hear Kenny choke on something next to me before he and my big brother burst out into hysterical laughter at my expensive.

“Jen, dad? Jen wouldn’t have a boyfriend even if she was the last girl on earth,” my big brother says through his laughter and I feel my cheeks color some more. Seriously, how old _are_ they? I have a few choice words already in mind for him but before I can say anything to him, he’s clutching his head in pain and as I look up I spot Mother’s scolding him something fierce while clutching a wooden spoon in her hand.

“Alexis! Don’t talk about your sister that way! You will apologize immediately or you can forget about dessert,” she scolds while waving the wooden spoon threateningly at him and Alexis’ green eyes are the size of saucers at the threat. His eyes connect with mine and I smirk at him through my embarrassment; Alexis has a pretty big sweet tooth and he would do anything for his desserts.

“Jen—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, cutting him off with the wave of a hand just as Mother places a plate full of eggs, bacon, and hash browns in front of me. “Thanks Mom,” I say and place a kiss on her cheek before she moves to place another plate in front of Altaïr—who I’ve only just realized has taken a seat next to me. I quickly steal the bacon off his plate because, you know, he’s Muslim—or at least his dad was—and even if his mother was Christian I don’t want him to eat pork.

“Jen,” Mother scolds as she catches me in the act and I give her a cheeky grin as I stuff the bacon into my mouth.

Must destroy evidence!

I chew the meat as fast I can while she continues to give me look that screams bloody murder. Before she can act on it though, Ken saves my hide and explains—seeing as my mouth is too stuffed for me to speak and if I tried Mother would just get angrier.

A lady must always mind her manners.

“Altaïr is a Muslim, Mrs. Hernandez,” Kenny says as politely as ever and the anger on Mother’s face quickly turns to concern. Altaïr’s hood is still up so if he’s upset by Mother offering him pork we can’t tell but I’m sure he’s not. He never seemed overly religious to me while I played the game so I wouldn’t think he would be bothered by someone offering him pork, especially if said person doesn’t know about his religion.

“Oh my! I hope I didn’t offend you, Altaïr,” she apologizes and Altaïr in his normal, quite fashion simply shakes his head. And while Mother gives a relived sigh I feel the dread pool in my stomach.

No, he just said no…

He just said no to my mother’s English words.

_He understands!_

If anyone has noticed inner turmoil as I realize Altaïr can now communicate with everyone in the room, they say nothing. Mother continues to hand out plates loaded with food before finally taking a seat next to Father. Alexis, cheeks overflowing with food, chats about something other with Ken while Father, dear, sweet dad gives me smile that has my heart racing.

That smile promises mischief.

I tuck into my food before he can say anything.

My gazes turns to Altaïr as I eat, curious to see what he’ll do and when all he does is pick at the strange food, I hope no one notices that he’s not really eating. He pushes the food around his plate with a small frown tugging at his lip. He’s hesitant to try it and I don’t blame him. I’m an incredibly picky eater so I can understand not wanting to eat something that looks strange to him.

But it’s good food all the same and I can’t help but spear some on my fork and hold them to his lips.

I don’t know why I don’t it, nor can I say what drove me to do it but for whatever reason he trusts me—surprisingly—and quite a lot too so he takes the bite almost instantly.

There’s a small, amused smile on his face as he chews on the rubbery eggs and I smile back, the others forgotten to me as I’m frozen by his smile.

It does weird things to me.

My heart thuds heavily against my chest and a warm blush rushes to my cheeks as he continues to look at me with that small smile on his lips.

You never see Altaïr smile; hell, you never see his face! And I can’t help but stare with something akin to awe.

He’s handsome, I’ll give him that.

I continue to hand feed Altaïr almost in a daze—not knowing why I’m doing it but unwilling to stop as his smile slowly goes from amused to bemused. He offers no complaint though and eats everything I offer him with nothing more than a raised brow.

He probably thinks I’m a little mental know—if he didn’t already…

A loud throat clearing reminds me that we are _so_ not alone and that my whole family has just watch me go all dopey over a guy…can this day get any worse?

I drop the fork as if I’ve been burn, ignoring the way it clatters loudly against Mother’s china and sit up in my chair. My cheeks are once again on fire but I keep my chin up even though I can see Father’s eyes darkening with amusement. Of course there’s also something darker in there, something that no doubt screams _‘she’s my baby girl’_ as he studies Altaïr.

“It’s not like that,” I say just as Father goes to open his mouth and he turns calculating, brown eyes on me.

I can’t find the words to explain that there really isn’t anything going on here but overactive imagination ( _on their part_ ) and awed fascination ( _on my part—he’s from another fucking dimension after all_ ). Still, I’m not blind to the way he sticks close to us, the way he’s followed Ken and I around and even through the swirl. There’s something more going on here than he’s telling us.

He’s being _too_ helpful, _too_ trusting.

He’s an Assassin, bred and trained to kill, he would never—should never place this much trust on strangers unless he wants to end up in a very tricky situation.

Maybe Al Mualim put him up to this.

“He’s just a friend, dad.”

_Dear fucking Christ, that burns._

“Of course he is, sweetheart,” Mother says and I can’t figure out just what the tone of her voice is implying as she continues, “Now, could either of you be so kind as to explain what happen to my poor chandelier? It was fine when I went to bed last night.”

Kenny and I turn to stare at each other at the same time, eyes wide and unconcealed panic on both our faces because we don’t know what to say. We never talked about what to tell Mother, we’d been too distracted with the swirl, then getting back home, followed by clean up, and finally getting Altaïr clothing from this era so he wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb.

Hell, we never discussed if we would be keeping this a secret or if we would tell the world either.

Though my parents do probably have the right to know, it is their house that was damaged by all of this after all.

“Would you two like some time to get your stories straight before prosecution?”

Father may have been joking but Ken and I nod fervently. Oh yes, we definitely need to talk about this before we tell anyone anything.

“You have one hour.”

Mother’s voice is sharp and cold, a huge contrast from the sweet, soft voice of before and a big hint that—for all her smiles—she is severely ticked at the death of her chandelier. Ken and I waste no time shooting up from our seats and out the back door—after depositing our dishes in the sink of course. Mother’s mad enough as it is.

We race across the yard and only stop when we’re sure we’re out of hearing distance from the house.

“What do we say?” Ken asks as he leans against the big apple tree in the middle of the yard. I don’t answer him right away, instead I watch as Altaïr trails after us, the suspicion hitting me once again as he approaches. “What _don’t_ we say?”

“Who do we tell?” I counter and begin to pace in front of him. “Mother and Father have a right to know, it’s their house after all. And they’ll find out sooner or later anyway but what about others?”

“Others?”

“This could be one of the biggest scientific discovery of the century! So do we go inform the scientific community? Or do we keep this little secret to ourselves and deal with it on our own?” I question, still pacing. 

“Is there any danger to worry about?” Ken asks worry crossing his features as his eyes flick over to Altaïr.

“Templars for one, highly skilled Assassins for another.”

“Pieces of Eden?”

“Those wouldn’t work on us. We lack the neural transmitters for them _to_ work. Honestly, the only thing we really have to worry about is if _‘a certain deranged boss’_ was to discover the existence of the swirl,” I say, mindful of the Assassin hanging off of our every word.

“So tell or don’t tell?”

“I don’t know,” I groan and drop to the ground in defeat. The sun hangs heavy in the sky and what little light manages to filter through the leaves warms me as I lay there and think. “We tell the government and then we'll have a bunch of suits up in this bitch and who knows what they’ll be doing.”

“Your family will be relocated,” Ken says in agreement though his words do nothing to easy my indecision.

“Would it not be best to leave that decision in the hands of your parents?” Altaïr asks and I turn to watch him as he takes a seat on the grass too. “It is their home and therefor should be their decision if they wish to inform the… _govenerment?”_

_Would you look at that…finally a word he doesn’t understand._

“He has a point, Jen,” Ken says as he too takes a seat at the base of the tree and runs an agitated hand through his hair. “They should be the ones to choose if we tell or not. All we can do is lay the facts out in front of them and hope they make the right call.”

“What _is_ the right choice?”

No answer comes, my questions hangs heavy in the air as we all sit there lost in thought.

The Templars will be the least of our problems if Al Mualim—crazed and deranged as his is—finds out about the swirl—if he doesn’t know about it already. Does he know? Did Altaïr tell him and did Al Mualim order him to trail us home and keep an eye on us?

“I don’t trust you.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of them and I watch as Altaïr does nothing more than quirk a brow at my statement. He doesn’t flinch or demand a reason as to why, just nods his head in understanding as if it’s to be expected.

“And yet,” I continue when I realize he isn’t going to say anything. “You’ve shown us nothing but utter faith. So what is it that you want? Why are you here?” I ask voice carefully blank and I watch the way he tenses at my words.

His hands clench against the grass and he turns his head away from Kenny and me.  

“She told me I’d have to trust you if I wanted things to be different.”

I can’t stop the cold chill that goes down my back at that.

 


	7. Ch 6

“Who? Who told you?” Ken asks—no demands as he pulls himself up to tower over Altaïr in a way I didn’t know he could. His eyes flash with suspicion, with anger, and if it wasn’t because we all know he wouldn’t stand a chance against Altaïr in a fight I honestly believe he would have tried a more hands on interrogation technique. “Who sent you?”

“I do not know.”

“You don’t know? How the hell don’t you know?” Kenny asks disbelief clear in his voice as he begins to pace angrily in front of Altaïr’s still seated form. He’s working himself into a full blown fit; level-headed as he may be, even he has his breaking points so I surge to my feet before he can say anything else.

_Or swing._

“I think we’re done here,” I say, an air of finality in my voice as I take Ken’s hand in my own. I pull him towards the house before he can say anything else. “Our hour is almost done anyways and then it won’t be our decision what happens to you anymore.”

I don’t look back at Altaïr as I say the words even though my stomach churns.

_‘_ _You_ _’_ _re making a mistake._ _’_

“That was fast,” Alexis greets as we walk in through the kitchen door. I shoot him a slight glare as I pass by him but it soon turns into an eye roll as I spot his stuffed cheek along with a half eaten piece of cake on the kitchen island.

“I’m pretty sure that was for everyone,” I say as I perch on a stool next to him, watching him spoon more cake into his mouth. Ken continues on without me, too lost in his thoughts and anger to stand still. So I give him one last parting glance as he rounds the corner, no doubt going to blow off some steam by tackling the mystery that is the swirl.  

“Was it?”

The funny thing about that—well, maybe more like odd—is that Alexis’ surprise is genuine.

His green eyes stare down in horror at the red velvet cake for a bit before he all but hurls his spoon into the sink. He rushes to cover the cake, scrambling to pretend he didn’t just eat half of it by himself before anyone else walks into the kitchen and spots him.

_Before Mother sees him._

How can he be so thin when he eats  _so_ much?

“You saw nothing.”

“Mum’s the words,” I whisper.

We fall into an easy silence after that. Alexis goes back to stuffing his face with a variety of different sweets and I fidget in my seat. I can’t sit still, not when I’m going to have to tell everyone about what we’ve found soon. Thoughts about what their reactions will be make me nervous and I soon find myself rising from my stool.

I head towards the back window without any conscious decision on my part. Though by the time I realize I’m standing there I don’t pretend to be admiring the scenery, I just let my gaze fall on him.

Altaïr still sits beneath the shade of the apple tree ( _there_ _’_ _s some irony hidden somewhere in there, I just know it_ ). He hasn’t moved—he doesn’t look like he _can_  move as he stares off into the distance, still as a statue. He looks frozen, shocked, like he really hadn’t expected me to just up and walk out on him.

“You know, he sure looks familiar.”

The voice is casual, soft. It’s hinting at more than I’m sure I can admit. Though, when I turn to look at Alexis, I keep my chin up.

_Poker face, sometimes it_ _’_ _s the only way to survive when growing up with boys._

They can make your life a living hell if you show any weakness. His eyes don’t turn my way though. Instead he keeps them firmly planted on Altaïr’s slumped form.

“You know, he  _so_  looks familiar. I’ve seen him before, from somewhere, I just know it. And that name, I’ve heard it  _somewhere_.”

His words freeze me to the core—though they really shouldn’t have because Alexis’ always been too observant for his own good. I make sure to keep my composer calm though, as he finally turns green knowing eyes my way.

“I’m not stupid, Jen, so why don’t you just tell me what’s going on.”

“But I’d hate to ruin the surprise,” I tell him, a self-satisfied smirk planted on my lips even though I feel anything but. The smirk doesn’t stay long either. My face drops into a scowl almost as soon as the words are out.   

“I heard you yelling in the morning,” he says instead, his voice soft, comforting—as if he’s expecting me to bolt. “I don’t know if any of what I heard is true but if you need to talk, I’m here, Jen.” he adds when I don’t respond. Then, with a comforting pat on my shoulder, he heads towards the dining room.

_It_ _’_ _s just like him to know exactly when I_ _’_ _m lost._

“I don’t know what to do.” I admit but only when he’s gone from the room. Only when I’m completely alone because just speaking those words out loud feels like admitting defeat. I’m giving up so the gamer inside me all but roars in anger as I turn my gaze back to Altaïr.

_‘_ _Don_ _’_ _t give up! You_ _’_ _re not a quitter!_ _’_

Golden eyes turn my way when my eyes fall on him again. As if finally sensing my gaze, he turns towards me and I nod my head just as a loud, irritated squawk echoes through the whole house followed by really loud and colorful curses.

_Son of a bitch._

~oOo~

“But it doesn’t have a white head?”

“That’s because it’s not a bald eagle, Alexis.”

“And just what is an eagle—bald or otherwise—doing in my attic, Ken?”

“I warned you not to open the door, dad…”

“Well, if you had also seen it fit to warn me that I would have been attacked by an eagle I might have been more inclined to heed your warning, Jen.”

“Enough!”

Mother’s voice silences us in a nanosecond. Even the eagle—perched on the ruined remains of the chandelier—that’s all but screeching at Altaïr—who somehow manages to completely ignores it while flipping through a magazine he found  _somewhere_ _—_ falls silent at her command. 

“An Assassin?” Mother asks again.

There’s something about her voice. It’s that voice, the belittling one that parents—well my parents—use when their expecting you’re next words to be  _‘_ _just kidding_ _’_. I’m completely serious though so I stand strong in front of her even as she quirks one perfectly plucked eyebrow.

Father stands behind her seated form, ever the figure of protection and support because in our house Mother makes the rules while Father enforces them. Though, I got to say, the still bleeding scratches on various parts of his body only help to make him look that much more menacing. 

“I knew this day would come,” Father mutters when I don’t rush take back my words. I turned to him in shocked. He  _knew_  the space-time continuum would rip and Altaïr would come crashing into our world?

Well, why didn’t he say anything?

“I’ll call the hospital and ask them to send the straight jack over,” his voice is resigned as he fumbles in his pocket for his phone while I openly gape at him as he dials in the number.

_Why the fuck does he know it by memory!?_

“She’s telling the truth, Mr. Hernandez,” Kenny says quietly from my left. Though, when Mother turns her calculating gaze on him, he trails off. She’s giving him that look, the one that just screams,  _‘_ _I never expected this from you, you should know better_ _’_ _._ Embarrassment rolls off of Kenny in waves while he ducks his head.

“Look, I know this sounds, well, crazy but I can prove it,” I finally say when it looks like Kenny might actually hide behind the couch just to get away from her disapproving gaze. “You want to know how the chandelier broke, right?”

Nods are the only answers I receive so I nod in return.

“Well then, follow me.”

I walk towards the stairs without another word or looking back because I’m sure they’ll follow. Though I hadn’t expected the eagle to follow after us too and I duck instinctively as it flies over my head—cursing it all the way—as it moves to flies ahead of us.

 _Once again you_ _’_ _re the source of all my problems, you little shit._   

“What you’re about to see will blow your minds." I state as we reach the attic door. I usher everyone up the stairs before they can say a word, eager to get this over with so we can come up with a plan to fix this.

It’s funny how you can hear everyone screech to a halt without any actual screeching but, as everyone comes to a dead stop at the top of the stairs, it’s the only way to describe it. Silence reigns for a long time before the demands for explanations begin.

We don’t have any though and Kenny tells them as much.

“We know where it leads, but not how it happened.” Ken tells them once silences falls again.

“And how would you know that?” Father asks, trepidation clear in his voice. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of the answer. Ken and I shift nervously under his gaze.

“We had a bit of an…accident and  _someone_ fell in.”

“How did you fall in, Jen?” Alexis whisper next to me, speaking for the first time since we revealed of the swirl. I shoot him glare but otherwise decide to ignore him as Ken continues to give Mother and Father the details of what we went through.

Not that it was much or exciting—really all we did was sleep. I told Ken we should have gone exploring; it would have made for a much better story. The first two people to cross through Time and Space and all they did was sleep.

 _I_ _’_ _m_  disappointed in myself!

“Okay, let me see if I understand what you’re saying,” Mother suddenly cuts in, demanding all attention again as she moves to stand in front of Altaïr. “This…young man is an Assassin, correct?”

“Yes. We made him change into modern day clothing so he wouldn’t raise suspicion,” Ken agrees.

“Of course. Now you’re suggesting that this swirl opened up last night and this young man unknowingly—or knowingly since you two aren’t sure of that fact yet—jumped through, crashed through the floor—”

“The structure is weakened here, Mrs. Hernandez. It was weakened when the chandelier was installed. Not to say that it would have collapsed just by walking over it, but when something crashes into it at the speed of which the swirl tends to spit you out…well, it didn’t stand much of a chance.”

“Yes, yes. Of course, dear.”

“I get the feeling that she doesn’t quite believe you,” Alexis whispers again, nudging my side to get my attention.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Ken’s making a valiant effort to convince her though,” he mumbles. I nod my head in agreement as I think of any possible way to speed this up. We’re getting nowhere. Mother and Father won’t actually believe just anything we say—as it should be because what we’re claiming is past outlandish.    

“We need more evidence,” I whisper, turning towards Altaïr. His gaze is—unsurprisingly—on me so I nod my head towards the door. He follows after me easily enough as does Alexis, but I ignore him. I continue down the stairs while Ken keeps on trying to get my parents to believe us.   

“Change back into your clothes,” I tell Altaïr as we make our way down the hall. “Alex, can I borrow your camcorder?”

“You’re planning to jump through?” he ask, disbelief clear in his voice. So, when all I do is nod in agreement, he stops cold. “Holy, shit, you were serious!”

“Of course I was. Did you think we were making this up just for shits and giggles? There’s a fucking hole in our fucking ceiling!”

“Yeah, there is, but there has also been worse. Like when you and Ken—”

“Point made,” I say, cutting him off with a wince. I really don’t need that trip down memory lane. “But that’s neither here nor there. Now go get your damn camera,” I mumble before continuing downstairs with Altaïr still following after me. “Hurry up and get dressed, we’re going back.”

“Why?”

“Because they don’t believe us and I’ll be damned if the only thing I’ll be able to tell anyone about this is that I went to Masyaf 1191 and  _slept_." I say, something a kin to a growl in my voice as I stalk into the living room. A blue, unassuming duffle bag lies on the couch. Thrown there sometime during our arrival by Kenny and, grabbing it, I toss it towards Altaïr. “Now get dressed.”

After leading him towards the bathroom, I duck into my room so I can dress into something a little less conspicuous. I pull on a long sleeved, white dress even though it’s not long enough to be considered modest in his time—ending only at mid-thigh. I pair it some black leggings to hide all the exposed skin as well as a pair of brown boots. After a moment’s thought I pull off my glass—they don’t exist in Altaïr’s time yet—and slip some contacts in.

When I exit my room, changed and ready to go, I spot Altaïr waiting by my door. He has his hood up, his sword strapped to his hip and—for some inexplicable reason—it brings a smile to my lips. Though it could be because I’m finally about to have an adventure worth telling about.    

“Come on then.”

We all but race back up to the attic and, in my excitement, I forget about my anger. I forget that Ken and I had washed our hands of Altaïr.

“Here,” Alexis says as he passes me a pair of glasses when we meet back up at the door to the attic. “I’d figured you’d want to ditch the glasses but you’re going to need something a bit more discreet than a camera to record  _Assassins_. So I got you one of Dad’s spy glasses. Also, you might want to take this too,” he adds, pushing a small pack into my arms. “There’s no telling how long you could be gone.”

“I’ll be back in like ten minutes.”

“Let’s not risk it,” he mumbles as he takes a small combat knife out of the pack while I slip on the glasses. “Clip that onto your waist. There’s food and water in the pack—not a lot but enough to last two or three days if you know how to ration it—along with a Tablet hooked up to the glasses so you can make sure it  _is_  recording. ”

I can’t stop myself at his words. I all but throw myself at him as I pull him into a hug.

_Always a worrywart; he gets it from mom._

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him when his arms tighten around me. “It’ll only be for a bit. Thirty minutes tops. ‘Sides what could—”

“Don’t you dare say those words,” he hisses while I laugh. After a bit, I pull away from him and race up the stairs.

The scene in the attic is the same as when we left. Kenny’s still desperately trying to convince Mother that the swirl leads to a past filled with Assassins and Templars. Mother doesn’t look any closer to believing him though while Father’s completely ignoring them.

Instead, he’s having a stare down with the eagle.

Ignoring it all, I make sure not to pull too much attention to myself as I creep up to the swirl.

“You wouldn’t mind telling them what I’m going to do for me, would you?” I ask Alexis as he moves to stand next me. Pack on my shoulder, knife clipped onto my leggings, I’m ready to go. “I’ll be taking this ball. When I toss it through the hole it’ll mean I’m coming back,” I warn Alexis at his nods. Grabbing said ball, the same one from before, off the box I’d placed it on I continue, “Toss it back only if it’s safe for me to came back.”

“Safe?”

“Ask Ken, he’ll know what I mean.”

“Are you certain you want to do this?” Altaïr asks, speaking for the first time since we left him out under the tree. I nod my head and shoot him a smile though it falls when all he does is stare back.

“Should I, um, not…uh, is it a bad idea?”

He doesn’t answer, just gives me a feral grin and charges. I don’t have time to yelp as he tackles me. I don’t even feel it. Everything just blurs. The world spins.

It’s like riding a roller-coaster that’s spinning out of control and my stomach threatens to empty but it doesn’t get a chance because just as suddenly as the spinning starts, it stops.

And then I’m just falling, down, down, down, until I come to a soft stop in a cart full of hay with Altaïr lying under me.

_This is definitely better than him being on top of me._

Landing! Than him landing on top of me like last time!

My blush rushes forwards before I can fully comprehend what’s happening. Though, by time I figure it out, all I can do is stutter and gasp. I all but claw my way out of the hay, embarrassment rolling off me in waves and I’m thankful that it’s the middle of the night so the only ones who see me land in a heap on the ground are the guards.

Guards that are coming my way with rather shinny looking swords!

“Novice!”

One of the guards yells as he stalks my way and I scramble to my feet. He’s pissed! I can do nothing more than back up as he advances, though my retreat is cut short by the hay cart.

“What are you doing jumping off a building like that? You could cause yourself harm! That is not a move to be attempt without an instructor. Your Mentor will hear about this!”

The other guards hang back, watching as the man berates me while I shrink away from him. I’m not stupid enough to challenge him so I take his yelling and hope he won’t actually attack me. Though I can’t help but wonder if this is really something to get that mad over?

“That is enough.”

Altaïr’s voice comes from above me as he finally decides to cut in. I look up and find him leaning over the cart edge with a smirk on his lip. The man’s yelling is cut off by his appearance; he all but gasps as he spots him.

“Altaïr!”

“Gabr,” he greets as he jumps out of the cart. It doesn’t escape my attention that he moves in between me and Gabr. Apparently, Gabr doesn’t miss it either as he gives us both a curious once over. He’s an assassin after all, trained to see everything and anything. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t yell at my apprentice.”

You can literally feel the tension sky rocket as Gabr smirks.

“The master assassin that can’t be bothered with anyone but himself has finally taken an apprentice?” the man questions, his smirk shifting into a sneer as he continues to study us. “Abbas will be impressed."

_Oh Shit!_

Altaïr says nothing to that, just stares the man down so hard that even I shuffle awkwardly. The silence gets thick and heavy as their stare down goes on. Surprisingly—or maybe unsurprisingly—it doesn’t take long for Gabr to start shuffling nervously under Altaïr’s stare. I’m telling you, that man can be scary when he wants to be.

“Leave.” 

Gabr takes off like a bullet from a gun with that one word. He runs after the other guards that have walked off some time ago and I snicker at his retreating back.

“So he’s one of Abbas' friends, huh?” I ask as I slip the pack off my shoulders and take out the tablet. Altaïr nods in reply. “Why’d he mistake me for a novice anyways?”

“The second sight,” Altaïr says as he watches me mess with the tablet. “He has it as well. If it identifies you as a friend to me you will be seen as a friend by any other assassin. That and the fact that you are dressed similarly to one is why he mistook you for one.”

“Why didn’t you correct him?” I ask as I make sure the glasses are recording. The glow of the torches provides just enough light that I don’t have to worry about lighting plus I’m pretty sure these are equipped with night vision. Father always has the best tech. “Hell, why did you call me your apprentice?”   

“It would be easier than explaining what I am doing with a civilian woman in the dead of night.” he says, looking towards the tablet. If he’s curious about it, it doesn’t show on his face. He’s got an amazing poker face I’ll give him that.

“Right.”

I can’t stop my wince at that as I turn away from him and get down to business.

The Assassin’s insignia is mostly displayed up at the fortress so I might have to go up there if I want to capture it on film. For now, I’ll just capture the city though. Without another word we begin to walk down the dirt road. I look at everything I can while Altaïr leads the way and I know I have him to thank as we don’t run into anyone.

That and the fact that we soon end up where we left the horse just hours before. It’s still there, safe and sound, if a little ornery about being left just standing there for hours with a cart attached to it.

“Hey there,” I mumble to it as I pat it’s neck. “Sorry about that, big boy. How about we get you back to the stables and take this annoying cart off you?” The horse nickers softly at that and I giggle when I spot Altaïr giving me a curious look. “They may not understand us, but animals like to be talked to.”

“You are familiar with horses?” Altaïr asks but it sounds more like an observation as he climbs onto the cart. I scramble up after him and take a seat next him. “I would not have thought so since I had not spotted any evidence of one in your home or Kenneth’s.”

“Of course I am, I’m Mexican." I say and Altaïr shoots me a confused look. “Right, Mexico still doesn’t exist.” I mumble as I take in the homes and fountains and randomly placed hay cart. “My grandparents own a farm and I visit from time to time. They keep horses for use around the farm but, in my time, horses have been exchanged for cars as means of travel.” 

“The metal contraption you forced me into?”

“The very one.”

We continue on in silence after that, a comfortable, peaceful one that I don’t mind. The few night guards that patrol ignore us as we pass them. All in all it’s a rather peaceful night, one I wouldn’t have expected during this dangerous time in history.

The Crusade is still going strong, isn’t it?

“What month is it?” I ask, disturbing the silence. It doesn’t really matter what the answer is since I don’t know when Al Mualim will send Altaïr for the apple but I’m curious all the same.

“July.”

“Weird, it’s October in my time. But then again we can’t really expect the dates and times to be the same. I mean, it’s 1191 here and 2014 back home,” I mumble as I shoot him a quick glance. He’s looking forward, focused on keeping the cart on the road, and, for some reason, my thoughts go back to our conversation under the apple tree. “Do you really not know who she was?”

“She never gave me her name no matter how much I asked,” he answers, voice low and thoughtful. “But she knew me by name and she showed me things. Events that would come to pass if I kept on as I was. If I did not change my ways.”

“What did she show you?” I ask even though I can already guess. Altaïr—pre-demotion—may have been an arrogant and selfish asshat but his only real screw up had been at Solomon’s temple.

“Malik, armless,” he whispers, a haunted look on his on his face as he speaks. “Kadar’s death. The order in shambles and a young boy— _Dezmund,_  she called him—tortured day in and day out, and she said these things were my fault. That I was the one to cause them.”

Okay, that’s a little harsh. While the blame for Malik’s loss and Kadar’s death would be entirely his fault, Abbas banishing him wouldn’t. Nor Desmond’s torture—he can’t do anything about that.

“Minerva,” I whisper while glancing up at the stars. Who else would it be? “It has to be Minerva, she’s always been one to meddle."

“Minerva?”

“A Roman Goddess, in my world.”

“And in mine?”

“One of ‘ _Those Who Came Before_ _’_." I mumble distractedly.

“Before what?” Altaïr asks confusion plain on his face as I turn back to look at him.

“Right, you won’t find out about that till later,” I mumble annoyed with myself for forgetting that he really wouldn’t know about any of this. “For now I need to know, exactly what you were doing before you ended up in my house? And I need the whole truth so I can figure out just what the hell is going on.”

“A mission,” Altaïr mumbles, sounding somewhat hesitant and I completely understand. The order is secretive organization, they can’t very well go around telling people what they’re doing. “I was on my way to see the Master about a mission.”

“The same one Malik came to you about?”

“Yes,” he agrees with a nod before continuing, “Needless to say I was late.”

“So what happened on your way there?”

“I scaled the building, the same one where the swirl now is, in the hope of arriving to the fortress faster but,” he trails off and I look up at him expectantly. “Everything darkened when I reached the top. One moment I was pulling myself onto the roof and the next I was standing in a black room and  _she_  was there.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I mumble, confused. “She shouldn’t be able to leave a message without a Piece of Eden. And even then she can’t just pull you into the Nexus or rip a hole in the Space-Time Continuum at will.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I have no idea what the fuck is going on."


	8. Ch 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's back! It's back! 
> 
> He actually brought it back!!!
> 
>  
> 
> _Amazed_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick head up for those of you who read the Teaser!
> 
> The start of this chapter is **before** the Teaser.

"What is it that she wants?"

"I can only guess." I say as I look up towards the sky. It's a quiet night. Only the chirping of insects sounds in the distance, along with the rustling of leaves in the wind, the soft  _clip-clop_ of hooves on dirt, and the creaking and groaning of the wooden cart.

_Peaceful, the night is peaceful._

Filled with the sounds of nature.

The difference between my world and this one is astonishing. Even in the dead of the night, my world never stills.

Someone's always up and about.

Buses, cars, taxis, trains, trailers, televisions, air conditioners, heaters, refrigerators, music and that one person that waited till the last minute to study for finals or write an essay or do a project. My world never stops going, so to see a city still and sleep surprises me.

"Whoever the message was for, it was intended to warn." I say as I turn my gaze back to Altaïr. He sits hunched, face completely hidden from sight by his cowl and lack of light as he steers the horse back towards the gates. "Maybe it was for Clay because it can't be for Desmond. It's too early."

" _Dezmund_?"

"The one chosen to save the world," I whisper but the night is silent enough that it's heard clearly. I can see the gates now and I turn my gaze back to them so I can catch them on film. "He's an Assassin, a reluctant one but an Assassin nonetheless. He's your descendant actually."

“Save the world from what?” Altaïr asks as I focus in on the banners I can see dangling from the gates. They have the Assassin insignia on them and as I record them I figure there's no need to go back to the fortress after all.

I say nothing for a long while, unsure if I should or shouldn't. I've already said so much, half of which I'm not certain was a good idea to blab about. Altaïr doesn't take my silence as reluctance, at least I think he doesn't when he doesn't ask again or pressure me for an answer.

I see no reason not to tell him, not when I've already said so much but this is one of those things that people tend to worry uselessly about. The end of the world, it'll happen eventually, for both of us—years after his time and years after mine.

It'll be out of our control.

We won't be able to stop it but one still worries—remember how many people were afraid of 2012—and I don't know what will happen if I tell him that one day, solar flares might destroy his world. Will he panic? Worry himself sick? Or will his teachings allow him to brush it off?

Will he continue on because, as it is, he doesn't fear death?

I still haven't made up my mind by the time we pass through the gates and arrive at the stables. Luckily Altaïr seems willing to let it go as he pulls the cart to a stop by the stable's doors and helps me off of it without a word. 

"Basil," Altaïr calls into the dead of the night just as the teen from before appears at the doors. His eyes are puffy, red, and a yawn over takes him before he can answer Altaïr's call but he moves forward to take the horse nonetheless.

"Altaïr," the teen finally greets once he beats back the yawn. He begins to lead the horse away, around the stable, without another word. "Khayrat," the teen coos as he goes, running his hand over the now knickering horse. "Let's get you some rest, Khayrat."

"Why is there a stable boy so late at night?" I asks once the boy's out of earshot

"It may be late but an Assassin may arrive, in need of help, at any hour." Altaïr says as he nods his head back towards the gates. I nod in understanding as I follow after him. We continue our way back towards the city in silence for a bit, though he breaks it as we pass through the gates. "Would you like to capture the fortress before we return to your world?"

"No, I think the banners on the gates are proof enough." I says as I take one more look at them for good measure. "Besides I'm pretty sure everyone's worrying themselves sick so the sooner I get back the better."

Altaïr says nothing to that and just nods his head in understanding and leads the way back to the swirl. We walk in silence, questions and mysteries brushed aside for the moment as we simply enjoy the quiet night. In fact I'm so engrossed in my surroundings and taking in as much as I can that I don't realizes that my plan wasn't as fool proof as I originally thought.

“Maybe I didn’t think this through enough.”

The sun’s peaking in the distance, creating a beautiful array of colors while the eagle watches us curiously from it’s ledge. We've made our way back to the building and up the ladder so we now stand on the roof, in front of the swirl. Altaïr, for his part, says nothing but nods slowly beside me as we stare at the paper in my hands.

 _“_ _You_ _’_ _re going to have to gives a few hours to figure something out. Mom says we will not fill up the house with hay every time someone travels through._ _”_

\-   _Alexis_

It’s a sticky note really, taped to the ball along with a pen that was thrown through the hole not even five minutes after I had first tossed it in. Not knowing what else to do I scribble a quick reply on the back of the note and toss the ball into the swirl.

 _“_ _How long?_ _”_

I don’t have to wait too long for an answer but I still don't like it.

 _“_ _A day._ _”_

“Well, looks like you’re stuck with me.” I mumble as I clutch the ball to my chest. Once again Altaïr says nothing as we stare at each other. “How fucked am I?”

"Why would they allow you to remain here?" Altaïr asks instead as he turns to climb off the roof. I follow after tossing the ball back with an _'okay'_  scrawled on it because there's nothing else I can do. "Even while knowing that my world is far more dangerous than yours, they ask you to give them time to find another way when there is an easier solution."

"Alexis must have told them that he'd given me a pack with food and supplies," I mumble as we climb down the ladder. "So, since there's no real hurry to get me home, they want to find a permanent solution."

"It is still dangerous for you to remain here."

"Yeah, it is." I agree as I look around us. It may be early morning but there's already a fair amount of people out and about. "But you'll protect me."

He says nothing to that, just gives me a sideways glance before walking forward. I, once again, follow after him as he heads towards the fortress. Since I'm stuck here, I guess I might as well record the fortress too.

There's nothing else to do so I follow obediently after Altaïr. Also, since I'm dressed the way I am, I receive far less looks than last time as we climb the hill up to the castle. I make sure to keep my eyes on it as we approach, wanting to get it all on camera for the folks back home.

_Masyaf..._

"It's beautiful."

"Does it exist in your world?"

"It does," I say with a nod. "Though it's in ruins now." I whisper, silently mourning such a beautiful structure. "I've always wanted to see it and what better way to see it than in it's prime."

"What happens?" Altaïr asks as we pass through the gates. The guards don't even look my way as we make our way through the courtyard, proving that changing clothes was for the best. "Why is it that the future I was shown was in shambles?"

"A lot of things." I tell him as we pass the training ring. Even this early, when the sun's only been out for less than an hour, it's already in use. Two men are in the middle, sparring, and the sound of metal meeting metal fills the quiet dawn. "I'm not sure how much of it I can tell you though."

"Why not tell me all?"

"If it was Minerva who showed you those things then I have to think very carefully about what I can and can't tell you." I tell him as I stop by the ring and watch the two men fight. They're not using wooden swords but they're also not out to draw blood like the previous boys. "Minerva's greatest skill was calculating the future so if she didn't show you everything, it was for a good reason."

"What is it that she kept hidden?" he asks as he stops next to me, eyes glued onto the match as well.

"Ah, but the question isn't: _What is she hiding?_ " I say as turn to look up at him. "It's: _What she was trying to stop_? What was it she saw if she showed you everything? What would happen if I just opened my mouth and told all that you would come to learn in the next few months? See the real question is:  _What's safe to say and what isn't?_ "

Silence falls around us as I continue to stare up at Altaïr and I can see the surprise in his eyes as he stares down at me. He obviously hadn't expected such a deep and thought out answer and honestly neither had I.

"But then again it might not even have been her," I tell him with a shrug as I turn back to the fight. "Or you could have stumbled upon a message not even intended for you. It happens. Especially if you involve Jupiter who's admitted to having trouble with dates."

"Jupiter?"

"Another one of _'Those Who Came Before'_ ," I mumble just as the fight comes to an end and both men clasp hands in camaraderie. After they exit the ring, two more men step in and another spar begins. Practice, two more men move in to practice.

"You have mention them once already but you have yet to say what they came before of." Altaïr comments when he sees that I have no intention to move as the fight starts. What can I say? I love watching men fight!

"Before Humans," I mumble but he hears me anyway and I feel his gaze burn into me as he waits to see what else I'll say. I see no harm in telling him this so I continue, "They came before the humans in your world and were wipe out off the face of the earth by a horrible disaster."

"But they are your gods?"

"Something like that," I say mumble as I turn back to look at him and nod my head in the direction we were heading. "They aren't  _my_ gods but, they are viewed as gods by some and simple myths by others. In my world Minerva is the Goddess of Wisdom. Here, she is better known as one of three that tried to stop the disaster that wiped out  _'Those Who Came Before.'_ "

"But failed."

"Yes, they failed," I say as we go back to walking. We're heading towards the interior of the fortress, up the steps and inside, where the library is and giddiness fills me at the thought of finally seeing the inside of the Masyaf Castle. "But maybe it was for the best because, had they stopped it, the humans wouldn't have thrived."

It's beautiful!

There are wooden bookcases lined with soft leather books. Stone archways and a grand staircase leading up was decorated in red and white cloth. Once again I spot doors that weren't in the game and I can only imagine where they lead. The need to find out is strong but I hold it back as we climb the staircase because the need to see the garden is stronger.

"Why is it that you seem to care for this place so dearly?" Altaïr asks, catching me off guard and I turn to him with wide confused eyes. "This place, the fortress, my world, you love it deeply. I am just curious as to why?"

"I ran away and came here," I tell him as we enter the garden. It's beautiful, filled with flowers and trees and the very same fountain—the one embedded into the ground that runs along the flowerbeds—displayed in the game but here, now, I can see everything. The fine details, the swirls and designs and it takes my breath away. "When things were going bad at home, or when school was killing me, or when I just needed to forget all my troubles for a bit, I would come here. I would run away and come see you because you never failed to bring a smile to my face."

I don't turn to look at him as I walk towards the fountain and peer into it. He says nothing to my words so, after a bit of silence, I continue.

"I would come here and walk through the garden, the city, the fortress," I whisper as I crouch down momentarily to run my fingers through the water. "Or I'd go to Jerusalem to bug Malik while hunting down all the flags. Of course this was before the second game came out and I found Ezio. After that, I'd cause mayhem all over Italy. You have no idea how fun it is to tackle the guards for no reason."   

"Ezio?"

The way he says the name, confused and curious and disgusted all at once, makes me pause.

" _Ezio Auditore da Firenze_ ," I whisper as I stand, shaking the water from my hand. I move to climb down the stone steps and fully enter the garden, ignoring the tone of Altaïr's voice. "A young carefree man forced to grow up after the death of his father at the hands of the Templars. Sound familiar?

"Every Assassin after you has the same story line," I tell him when he stares at me in shock. At least I think he's shocked, it's impossible to tell with that hood. "Well, for Connor it was his mother but it's still the same. It seems every notable Assassin goes through the same thing. They start off as arrogant fools, go through tremendous hardships for revenge, and then come out as some of the sweetest souls you'll ever meet."

"If we are all the same then why was it me?" Altaïr asks, pulling up beside me when I stop to run my fingers over a flower petal. "Why was I the one chosen to go through this? Why not one of the others?"

Whether he means the game or ending up in my world I don't know but I answer either way.

"Because you're the start," I say as I look up and make sure to lock eyes with him as I continue, "Because it was the first Piece of Eden found after the disaster. Because you're the first human to get his hands on a Piece of Eden and not use it for evil. You may not have been the first to find it but you understood that it couldn't be used. That it was evil and twisted. That it had to be destroyed and forgotten...but you couldn't do it so you hid it. But once one was found and the myths proven true, the war between the Assassins and Templars began in earnest."

The silence is stiffening as he takes in my words. Being pre-demotion Altaïr, I’m a little surprised that he doesn’t preen under my words. They’re a praise after all. I’ve just told him he’s better than anyone else because he saw the Piece of Eden for what it was.

Twisted and evil.

But he says nothing; just stands there next to me with a completely blank, though obviously guarded, look. I don’t analyze it though, don’t look into it or try to figure out what he’s thinking, just move down another set of stone steps to the third level. He follows after me without a word, the tension dissolving.

The conversation is done.

The way he doesn’t move to speak again tells me as much and I don’t feel the need to continue it so we move towards the final level in silence. All things given, it’s an oddly peaceful one so I think nothing of it when Altaïr moves ahead of me to look over the ledge and to the river below.

My fear of heights keeps me from following after him. I would love to look too but I don’t trust myself enough to not trip and end up falling over the ledge. So instead I take a seat on the slightly damp grass, legs cross and watch him.

His clothes billow in the wind, the sash around his waist all but dances in it, but his hood never falls back, not like Malik’s did just from simply standing there…Wait…was I supposed to see him? Was I supposed to realize it was him? Was the bird supposed to knock me into the swirl? Things never happen _“_ _just because_ _”_  in video games. Everything’s always for a specific reason.

Someone  _is_ behind all this.

But it can’t be them. Minerva, Jupiter, and Juno can’t just actively mess with this world….Or maybe they can. Their technology had been amazing, their abilities damn near endless. They  _created_ humans, made Pieces of Eden that allowed one to travel in time, had Temples that allowed them to calculate the future.

Sure, they couldn’t stop the disaster but that was because they didn’t have the _time._

Everyone had been so caught up with the war. Too busy trying to stop Eve from liberating the humans to look up. They didn’t realize the solar flares were coming until it was too late to _stop_ them. So what if it wasn’t too late?

What if they had realized it sooner?

Would they have been able to stop them then?

Is that why they’re all over Desmond? Why they wanted him to go to the temple? Had they been close to an answer? Had they been only days away from completing their seventh experiment? The one that would have saved them all?

And it’s as I’m asking myself all these questions that I realize it. As he stands there, back to me hunched over the railing.

 _Something_ wants me here.

Wants me right here in Masyaf and it’s because of him, because of Altaïr. That’s why he was shown all that, why someone from the first civilization pulled him into the nexus and told him to trust  _me_  and then threw him into my home.

Why though?

I’m not too sure but it could be to keep Abbas from gaining control of the Brotherhood or to keep Altaïr from seeing the map the Apple projects after he kills Al Mualim or, hell, it could simply be just to save Kadar. Either way, I’m needed here so I intend to do all that and anything else that I can so that the Templars won’t keep getting the upper hand.

“We must go.”

“Go?” I ask as Altaïr turns back to look at me, snapping me out of my thoughts though the promise is still there. I can’t ignore this. I can’t turn my back on him not when some higher being has practically demolish his—and my—concept of reality and thrown him head first into my life. Not when I can do something meaningful here. “Go where?”

“There are many errands to be done.” he says as he offers a hand to help me up. I take it, a little confused as he begins to lead me back up to the fortress.

“Please tell me you aren’t going on an assassination mission.” I plead as we make our way through a random—to me—wooden door. When all Altaïr does is throw a smirk over his shoulder I pale. “Oh dear baby Jesus, please no! I’m not good at the stealth thing, Altaïr. They’ll hear me coming a mile away and I can’t even fight! I’m going to die and  _you_ _’_ _re_ going to have to be one to tell mom, so I’d think twice if I were you because—”

“I am not going to commit an assassination,” he says as he leads me down the stone corridors. “I have been instructed to stay within Masyaf until further notice.”

“So what are we going to do then?”

“Sleep.”

“Sleep?” I ask, giving him an odd look even though he can’t see it because he’s walking in front of me. “What about your errands?”

“They can wait,” he mutters. “I have not slept since before I ended up in your home so I intend to rest before tending to them.”

“What about me?” I ask. “What am I supposed to do while you sleep?”

“You can join me in slumber or read a book to pass the time,” he says just as we come to a stop in front of a wooden door. It goes without saying that it’s his room, especially since he enters without knocking. “I do not think that I should have to tell you that you should not venture through the fortress alone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, pout on my lips, as I step into the room. Tugging the pack off my back, I dump what’s in it on the bed to see just what exactly Alexis packed. I climb onto the bed and paw through it without another word.

There’s not much. Three water bottles, a couple of emergency water packets, food rations, the tablet, an emergency blanket, a lighter, a small first aid kit, and cases for the both the glasses and contacts. I must say, Alexis really thinks about all the little things.

I’m pretty sure he would have thrown some currency in there too if he had some that would have been accepted in this time.

“Are all those things really necessary?” Altaïr asks and I make the mistake of looking up from my pile of goodies to see him pull off his tunic.

Thirst is not to blame for my dry mouth as my eyes immediately go to his chest. His lean, muscular, tone, glorious—

“Jennifer?”

“What?” I ask, eyes wide as they snap to his. I desperately try to pretend not to see the smirk on his face while praying to whoever’s listening that he won’t say anything about my blatant eye-fuck. “Oh, right. Ah, yeah, I mean. I need food and water, right? And this is to help me make a fire,” I explain as I hold the lighter up and flick it. “See?”

“It is that simple?” he asks reaching for the lighter—still shirtless I might add—and I hand it over to him with a nod.

“Yeah, you just flick you thumb like that and presto!” I say, mouth still a little dry. “And in here are some things in case I get hurt, this is an emergency blanket and these boxes are where I can store my glasses.”

“Glasses?”

“These,” I say as I tap a finger against the frame as I pull them off and turn them off. “They help my see. Well not these specifically, these are to record. The ones I had on before are to help me see because I’m pretty blind.”

“Then how are you seeing now?” Altaïr asks as he passes the lighter back and  _finally_ pulls a clean tunic back on. He takes a seat on the bed afterwards and tugs off his boots.

“I have these little things  _inside_  my eyes right now.”

“Do they hurt?” Altaïr asks, curiosity written all over his face as he watches me pull off the glasses.

“No, I can’t even feel them.” I tell him as I open a water bottle and move towards the trash can. I wash my hands as best as I can without wasting too much water before going back to him. “See?”

I slide one out with practiced ease and his eyes actually widen as he sees the little piece of polymer. When he reaches out for it though I shake my head and pull my hand away.

“No, you can’t touch this one,” I tell him as I put it back in place. “I can get an infection if you do.” I tell him as I sit on the bed and shove everything back into the backpack.  “You know, it’s funny that it’s only  _now_ that you show interest in the things from my world.”

“We had more important things to deal with back then.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I mumble as I grab the tablet and sprawl out onto my stomach on the bed. “Now go to sleep so that we can do something before it’s dark out.”

“What is it that you want to do?” Altaïr asks, amusement coloring his every word as he sprawls out on his back next to me.

“I don’t know, something fun,” I grumble as I begin to go through the tablet’s recordings. “Maybe we can go horseback riding.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally a real chapter!!!


	9. Ch 8

Ashes flutter to the floor, smoke dances in the wind, and I watch wide-eyed, yet distant, as the world burns. As buildings falls and the ground splits and the fires spreads. As skin sizzles and screams sound and the world explodes into various shades of red.    

It goes on for what feels like hours, days, months,  _years_ and it’s not until the fires die and the ground ceases to shake and it all goes deadly quiet that I notice her. That I realize someone’s standing beside me, long white robes billowing in the ash filled air.    

Her body is slumped in defeat, eyebrows furrowed in pain, and regret swims in her eyes as she takes in the destruction of her city. Thin, pale hands reach up to pull her helmet from her head and she lets it slip through her fingers and clatter to the floor without a thought as she falls to her knees.     

As she mourns her people with soul crushing sobs.   

Her hair, free of her helmet now, billows in the winds of smoke and ash and I want nothing more than to run my fingers through it. To shush her and comfort her and tell her that everything will be alright but I can’t. I won’t because anything I say will be nothing but lies, because it  _won_ _’_ _t_ be alright. It'll never be alright.

Her people are dead.

So instead I just watch, distant and heartbroken, as she cries her sorrows to the heavens.    

And, as if they hear her, the heavens open and cry with her.   

 _"You mustn't allow history to repeat itself_."   

~oOo~   

There’s a heat against my side, a pleasant one that helps fight off the chill off the stone room so I don’t push it away or shrug off the arm thrown over my back. My head is nestled in my arms and I bury it further into them as I desperately try to dive back into unconsciousness.    

I don’t care what time it is. In my opinion it’s too early to be awake no matter what the clock may say. Not that I’ve seen any form of clock in the fortress or this time period in general but still. It’s too early and five more minutes would greatly be appreciated but I know it’s a lost cause.    

For some strange reason I’m up.   

With a grumble I roll onto my back, dislodging Altaïr’s arm as I go. It couldn’t have been too long since I nodded off after reviewing all the footage. Two or three hours at most but I know there will be no going back to sleep for me. Because I’m up. Fingers twitching, blood pumping, ready to get up and go, to move so it takes a lot to simply lay there.    

I try to recall my dream, to see if it’ll help me figure out what has me so wound up, but I can’t remember it and decide it must not have been important. So instead I brush it off and focus on quelling my jittery body with a nice long stretch that has my muscles shaking from the force of it.   

Looks like I came here to sleep again.   

“Fuck that.” I mutter to myself as I sit up, crawling off the bed. “I did not come here just to fucking sleep,” I mumble as I tug my boots on and fix my rumpled, wrinkled clothing as best as I can. “I don’t care anymore, I’m going to have my own god damn adventure, with blackjacks and hookers.”  

I don’t even get a chance to savor that joke as I’m yanked back by the hem of my dress before I can even get two steps from the bed. Altaïr’s vice like grip doesn't slip as I struggle to get free so I can book it from the room.   

“No, my adventure!”  

“I thought I warned you against leaving this room.” Altaïr mumbles, voice thick with sleep and eyes still closed yet his grip doesn’t loosen. No, it tightens and before I know it I’m sprawled over the bed again as he manhandles me back in to it. “It is dangerous.” he warns sounding more than half asleep as his arm once again wraps around my waist.  

I struggle against it, kicking at the sheets until they pool at the edge of the bed in a desperate attempt to escape. Altaïr simply grunts in annoyance, tightening his grip as he pulls me into his chest. Damn it, this man is an octopus.   

Light snores soon erupt around the room even as I’m still twisting to get free. Though all fight leaves me at the sound of them because _really_? Am I that weak that Altaïr can pin me down in his sleep? The fuck, man? I curse him up, down, left, and right for a long while after that.  

I say all the cuss words in the English language and have to move over to Spanish long before I finally quiet down again. And even then I’m forced to invent my own as I run out of those too soon for my liking.   

“You, you….Douchewaffle Piper.”  

“Hmm,” Altaïr mutters sleepily besides me and I glower at him even as his grip tightens around my waist. “You found another one, I was beginning to worry you would run out of names to call me.” he mutters, his voice lacking any real fire even as he shoves me off the bed and onto the cold, hard ground.   

“Hey!” I yelp as I scramble back to my feet while he stands. “You deserve it for all the manhandling,l.” I mutter as I dust off my clothes and attempt to make myself as presentable as one can be in wrinkled clothes and bed-head.   

Altaïr says nothing to that, just shoots a glare my way as he makes his way across the room to the basket of fruit still laying half full. He tosses an apple my way without any prompting and I don’t say a word as catch it and take a bite out of it.

Altaïr grabs fruit from the basket as well and bites into it before turning to rummage through the only dresser in the room. He pulls out a clean cloak from one drawer and a pair of pants from another, then turns back to give me an expectant look. With a roll of my eyes I turn away, continuing to munch away at my apple while Altaïr gets decent.

He wasn’t this shy when he pulled off his shirt without warning last night.

Makes me wonder though, does he bathe regularly? History tells you that most people in the Middle Ages wouldn’t bathe for days if not weeks but Altaïr doesn’t smell bad, maybe a little musky—like any man—but he certainly doesn’t have a case of bad BO. Then again history also tells you that woman have no rights and yet I’ve seen my fair share of female assassins so maybe it’s just an assassin thing?

Maybe it’s all that, “Nothing is true, everything is permitted” stuff. Women here seem to be on the same level as men, fighting and training, and Altair’s  _Christian_ mother was an Assassin as well. So maybe it’s just their creed that has them bathing regularly and giving women the rights they’ll be denied for hundreds of more years.

I’m liking these Assassin’s more and more.

“Let’s go.”

“Go where?" I ask as I take the last bit from my apple. Altaïr moves towards the door without answering but I follow after him anyways as I chuck the apple core into the trash. I don't really care, since I'm stuck here anyways. Asking is really only done to state my curiosity. “What are we going to do?”

“We are going to train.”

“We’re going to do what now?”

~oOo~

“I…I can’t,” I pant out, sweat streaming down my face and into my eyes. I wipe it off with a shaking hand, earning a disapproving look from Altaïr because it requires me to move from out of position. “Please, I, I don’t…have the stamina for…this.”

“One more minute,” he urges, from his spot besides me. He’s squatting down, head lowered so he can look me in the eyes, and I give him a pleading look that he completely ignores. “Even the weakest novice has lasted longer than you, do not embarrass me by giving up now.”

“You’re a sadist!” I whine as I peek around us and see that he’s right.

Children—itty, bitty, seven year old things—hold the plank position with ease. There’s not a single one whining up a storm like I am and I whimper in embarrassment before strengthening my resolve. We’re a few paces away from the seven year old class and its instructor, having joined them at the instructor’s insistence when he realized Altaïr was in the training grounds.

Even after declining his invitation several times, Altaïr had finally given in after the Instructor had told us that the children would be delighted to have Altaïr there and would probably try harder to impress him. Apparently a lot of the little ones look up to the smug bastard.

And who wouldn’t?

Altaïr’s the youngest Assassin to become a Master. He’s like their Superman! And of course the smug bastard couldn’t resist an opportunity to preen as he’s showered with attention. Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded watching a bunch of itty, bitty, seven year olds train if Altaïr hadn’t insisted I might as well train with them since I’m about as skilled as they are.

That bastard!

“Just a few more minutes and we can move onto the next workout.” the instructor calls out and I hear a few subdued groans but still not a single whine.  

“Fuck…you…” I groan as my arms begin to really shake. They threaten to give out at any second and I swallow back yet another whine and instead focus on blinking the sweat out of my eyes as the midday sun bares down above us.

It’s hot!

“Alright that is enough for today,” Altaïr whispers as he places a soft soothing hand on my shoulder. Once given the command I let myself drop in a sweaty, panting heap on the floor. The soothing hand runs up and down my back while another one wipes my brow with a wet cloth.

“Come on then,” Altaïr says as he helps me to my feet and pushes a cup of water into my hands. “Let us leave before the children see us.” he whispers as he urges me out of the training grounds and back into the fortress.

“Ugh, I’m all sweaty.” I grumble after chugging down the offered water and run my fingers through my sweat soaked hair. “I need a shower and I need it now,” I whine as I frantically wave a hand in front of my face in a desperate attempt to cool down. It doesn’t work but the cool air from the fortress keeps me from whining too much.

“Then we must go down.”

“Down?” I ask, giving Altaïr a curious look as he stops in front of a wooden door. When it creaks open an earthy smell hits me immediately. “Stairs?” I question as I peek around Altaïr and spot stone steps leading underground. “Are the baths down there?”

“No,” Altaïr says as he begins to climb down. “The baths here are public,” Altaïr explains before I can question him. “I figure you would not be comfortable with bathing with others so I will take you to the river.”

“The river?”

“There is an alcove there that provides an adequate amount of privacy for bathing.” he says and I nod my head in agreement as I scramble down after him.

The trip down stairs seems to take forever, the sounds of our feet on stone the only noise as neither one of us feels the need to fill the silence and because I’m more than a little preoccupied focusing on where my feet land.

The flames of torches are the only source of light as we go and I know I will most likely end up tripping if I don’t pay attention. It’s not that I’m clumsy, per say—a gamer can’t be clumsy with the kind of hand-eye coordination skills they acquire over the years—but that I’m prone to cases of bad luck that, more often than not, having me visiting the nearest hospital.

And I  _do not_ need that at the moment.

Experiencing Middle Age medical practices is not on my bucket list.  

Before long we reach the bottom and the stairwell opens up to a dimly lit room. A basement if you will, filled with piles of clothing and large stone water troughs where I spot three women and two men scrubbing away at some of the dirty clothes. A laundry room then.  

They go quiet as they see us enter but take a moment to nod in greeting. Altaïr nods back without a word as well while I shuffle nervously and wonder if I should too. I decide against it though, when I realize it’s a bit too late and everyone’s already gone back to scrubbing.

“Wait here.” Altaïr whispers and I nod as he heads towards the women. He pulls one aside, a lean little thing with raven hair, big doe-eyes, and mocha skin and I soon find myself the subject of points and stares as they whisper back and forth.

After a bit of hush conversation the woman turns and digs through one of the piles of clothes, pulling out garment after garment, all roughly about my size, until there’s a sizeable pile in her arms. Altaïr nods as the woman hands him the clothes before she throws in a pink tunic in almost as an afterthought and shoos him out of her work area.

“Come.”

Altaïr leads me back up the stairs, through some more halls and doors until we reach his room where he dumps the clothing onto the bed.

“Grab a change of clothes.” he says as he turns to rummage through his own drawers. Pulling out his own change of clothes. Guess we’ll be bathing together then…it’s better than an entire group of strangers if still a bit embarrassing.

“Um…whose clothing is this,” I ask as I pluck the pink tunic from the pile and a pair of black leggings. I’m not too sure what to do about my more intimate clothing but I figure going without undies won’t be a catastrophe. Clothing picked I turn around just in time to catch the rough, weathered towel thrown my way.

“It matters not.” Altaïr says as he throws his own towel over his shoulder and heads towards the door, a bag of what I assume are toiletries in his hand. "Their owners will not be fighting for them any time soon."

“If you say so.” I mumble as I ball up my clothes and follow him out the door.

We end up heading down another flight of stairs, on the opposite side of the first. And this time, instead of a dimly lit room, the stairs simply lead out. Out to cliff overlooking the river and my fear of heights grips me the moment I realize it.

My mouth goes dry, my legs shake and I’m gripping on to Altaïr’s arm before I realize it. Not that I let go once I do though. No, I grip onto his arm for dear life. Especially when he leads me towards the edge of the cliff and to a set of a precarious looking stone steps.

“This way.” Altaïr mumbles, shooting me an amused filled look when he realizes I’m not letting go of him any time soon.

“I fucking hate heights.” I mumble as we descend down the steps. The air whips my hair around me, helping dry the sweat still clinging to the strands. Not that it matters since I’ll be bathing soon.

Altaïr says nothing to that as we continue carefully down the steps. There are no railings, nothing to hold onto as we go, so the possibility of losing my balance is frighteningly real but Altaïr holds strong. His balance unwavering even with me holding on to him.

Like an anchor, he keeps me from tripping over my own feet until we reach the bottom and the grassy river bank. Now off the cliff face, the wind calms and I feel no need to keep clinging to Altaïr so I let him go.

“This way.” he says before can make my way to the river and I follow him without a word and it’s as I do that I realize that I’ll follow this man anywhere.

_I trust him._

Really, truly, honest to god, trust him. More than I’ve trusted anyone before—other than Kenny—and I don’t know if it’s because I’ve technically known him for years or because of  _something_  else. The very same something that created the swirl.

That manipulated the air to push down Malik’s hood and got the bird to push me into the swirl.  

I don’t know if something is manipulating me to trust him. If something kept me calm enough not to call the cops when he first appeared and later on fed him, or if the feelings really are my own.

Or maybe I’m just too tired to fight him on anything at the moment and that’s why I’m following him like a dog on a leash. Either way, I don’t care, not at the moment. Not when I’m minutes away from washing away all the sweat and grime from my body.

I don’t waste any time the second Altaïr declares we’ve reach our destination. I toss the clothing in my hands to the grassy floor with no prompting. My long sleeved dress joins the pile seconds later with no feelings of embarrassment.

Bathing is much more important than being all respectable and what not at the moment. I keep my bra on though, and my panties, as I all but race to the water and jump in.

The water isn’t deep, reaching just past my chest at its deepest point but its enough as I begin to scrub away at my skin with the soap Altaïr provides. I don’t look at him as he hands it over, more than a little aware of the effect he has on me when he’s shirtless.

We bathe in silence, passing the soap back and forth until we’re squeaky clean. He gets out of the water first and I let myself enjoy the cool water a bit longer before I follow after him and dress as well—removing my wet panties and bra while carefully wrapped up in the rough, scratchy towel.

“Now what?” I ask once I pull the pink tunic over my head. It falls to mid-thigh so I take my time pulling on the leggings, giving my legs time to dry so getting them on won’t be too difficult.

“Horse riding.”

~oOo~

“Epona.”   

“Epona?”   

“Epona,” I nod as I glare at the white horse in front of me something fierce. Altaïr’s own glare is aimed my way as he holds out the leather reins for me to take which I refuse to so much as touch. “I’m not riding any horse but Epona.”   

“There is no horse here by the name Epona.” Altaïr says, slight growl in his voice as he continues to hold out the reins but I turn my nose up at them, arms crossed stubbornly over my chest. We’re standing in front of the stables, freshly bathe and still a little damp. One horse is already prepared, saddled up and ready to go. We’re just waiting for the stable boy to bring out one more for Altaïr but I stubbornly refuse the white horse.   

Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful. A nice bright white with no dust or dirt on it and its mane neatly brushed and styled but it’s not Epona. If I’m going to ride any horse in this universe it’s going to be the one that that I rode in the game.    

My trusty steed.   

The one that got me out when I was in the thick of it because riding any other horse feels like some type of betrayal.   

“Hamza is mellow and well-trained. There is no reason to fear him.” Altaïr says, a gentle tone to his voice as he once again holds out the reins for me to take and I gasp. “He is used to train the novices so you should have no trouble riding him.”   

“I’m not scared of him,” I all but yell, offended as I rip the reins from his hands. “And I know how to ride. I just don’t want to ride this horse. I want to ride Epona.” I grumble even as I begin to size up the horse and calculate how hard it might be to climb the beast because—my short stature aside—this guy is bigger than your average sized horse.   

“Who is Eponia?” the stable boy—Altaïr had called him Basil—asks as he leads out Altaïr’s horse. And it’s her, gleaming black fur, stark white spots, and all and I can’t help as I drop the white horse’s reins instantly.    

“Epona!” I cry as big black eyes turn my way. There’s a big dopey smile on my face, I know there is, but I ignore it as I move towards her. “Oh gods, how I’ve miss you,” I mumble as I slowly place my hand on her snout.     

I’m not an idiot. I know that while I may have spent countless hours riding this horse in a video game I don’t actually know her. She could be the most ornery horse to ever live and I would have no clue so I go slowly, giving her time to move away as I run my fingers up her snout and towards her ears.    

She allows the petting easily enough, though I keep a close eye on her ears so that I can move away if they fold back in irritation. They don’t though and I grin again as I brush my fingers over the diamond on her head and through her bangs.    

“Hey there, baby girl.”   

“He’s a boy.”   

“What?” I ask, head snapping back to look at Altaïr with wide eyes. The hood of his coat isn’t long enough to cover the smirk on his face.    

“His name is Hafiz and he is male,” Altaïr says, once again gripping the white horses reins as he walks towards us. “Thank you Basil, these two will do,” he says, dismissing the boy as he takes the lead from his hands. “Hafiz is not the horse to ride when one is a novice.”   

“I know how to ride horses,” I grumble again and take the reins when Altaïr offers them, challengingly. “And I don’t care if  _she_  is actually a  _he_. He’s still the same horse I rode all throughout the game and I’ll call him whatever I want. Besides, he should be honored to be named after his goddess.”      

“Goddess?” Altaïr asks as we edge away from the stables so that we can have more room to ride.   

“Epona, the protector of horses, donkeys, and mules.” I explain as I turn my attention to the saddle strapped to Epo—Hafiz and check to make sure the straps are secure. Not that I don’t trust Basil’s skills—he probably knows more than I could even hope to—but it doesn’t hurt to check.    

“Was she one of the ones from before?” Altaïr asks, and I pause in my checking as I really have to think about this one because I honestly don’t know.   

“I’m not sure,” I say as I turn towards him. “She could have been, in fact she probably was because her and Minerva both come from Roman Mythology and if Minerva was one of  _‘_ _those that came before_ _’_  then Epona should have been one too.”

“Did she survive?”

“I don’t know,” I say turning wide, surprised eyes towards Altaïr. “I honestly don’t know. I mean, I’ve never thought of it but maybe she did. Minerva did say that those who survived were later seen as gods by humans. So if she is seen as a goddess then she must have survived. Either that or she just might have been well known before the disaster. You just never know with these kinds of things.”

“You do not know?” Altaïr says, disbelief covering every inch of his voice but all I can do is shrug because I really don’t.

“There’s no way for one human being to know absolutely everything. No one person can have all the answers.”

As Altaïr puzzles over my response, I turn to tackle the feat of climbing onto Epona—yes, I’m sticking with that name. She— _he_ _’_ _s_  not as tall as Hamza, but he’s still pretty tall for someone of my size. Getting on him turns out not to be too difficult though and soon we’re riding away from the Masyaf gate at a nice, easy pace.

“I though you said he was ornery?” I ask, confused. This has got to be one of the easiest rides I’ve ever had. The mules down in Mexico had been far worse, bucking and braying in displeasure more often than not. But then again those were mostly used to haul loads or pull the plow, never to actually ride.

“He is.” Altaïr says, seeming just as confused but dismisses it with a shrug as we continue down the dirt path.

It’s not dark out yet, the sun's a few hours past noon—shocking since we slept most of the morning away and then the training and the baths. If I had to guess I’d say it’s somewhere between three and five. It’s not that hot out either though that could be attributed to my clothing.

The loose fabric helps to keep me cool, that and my still damp hair, so the sun actually feels good against my skin. All in all it’s a nice day out, calm and peaceful and maybe that’s what drives me to smile at Altaïr, reins gripped tightly in my hands, as I dig my heels in to the horse’s side to get him to break out in to a gallop.

“Race ya!”

 


	10. Ch 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It may all seem random but I swear there's a reason behind everything in this chapter.

The wind blows through my hair, whipping the strands around me as Epona runs. A giggle leaves my lips without permission though it soon turns into a full blown laugh as I hear Altaïr’s chuckle over the roar of the wind. 

I feel free as we all but fly across the land with nothing but the sound of our laughter and the  _clip-clop_ of the horses’ feet around us. We end up by the river again, racing along it without a care in the world.

It’s beautiful.

Picturesque and I wish I’d thought to bring my phone along so I could snap a few pictures. This land, untouched and wild, undisturbed by any type of settlement— _yet_ _—_  is mesmerizing. The water clearer than any lake or river I’ve ever seen and a small part of me mourns for what will, no doubt, become of this river in the years to come.

I don’t know when Epona’s gallop becomes a steady trot but once I realize it I bring him to a slow walk. Altaïr does the same to Hamza, bringing the white stallion to a walk beside us.

“I won,” I whisper, hesitant to break the peace around us.

“Hafiz has always been one of our faster horses,” he whispers back as his eyes roam the river banks.

Not too far away a twig snaps.

I don’t know how much of it is habitual or an actual need to be cautious as Altaïr’s eyes instantly snap in the direction of the noise. His stance seems relaxed enough but these are dangerous times for anyone in the Holy Land, let alone an assassin. I don’t have to ask to know that he’s alert.

Beautiful as this place is, it’s just as dangerous.

“Let’s head back,” I mumble as I tug on Epona’s reins to get him to turn back the way we came. Altaïr agrees with a nod and I simply follow suit when he urges Hamza into a faster gait. “We should go check if they’re ready.”

“It has not yet been a full day.”

“It should be night by now, if they haven’t finished yet they’ll need more than a day.”

Altaïr doesn’t say anything to that and we make our way back in a comfortable silence. I feel the heat fully now that I’m completely dry though we make it back to the stables before I can start to sweat under the hot sun.

_Note to self, pack deodorant on your next visit._

We stick to the shadows as we make our way back to the swirl. Not that we’re trying to avoid being seen or anything. It’s just too damn hot to make the mostly uphill walk directly under the sun. Though I do end up sweating when I drag myself up the ladder.

Oh well, I’ll just smear on the deodorant once I get home.

Though it’s once I’m facing the swirl again that I realize I have made yet another lapse in judgement.

“I shouldn’t have thrown the ball back,” I mutter as I try to find some way to get the attention of those on the other side of the swirl. Altaïr hums his agreement as he too starts to search the roof for something to throw in. “No rocks.”

I don’t need to hurt someone.

“Throw this,” he says as he hands me a handful of hay left behind from the bales. With a shrug, I toss it into the swirl, being careful not to get sucked into the current as I do.

Nothing happens. No one tries to contact us from the other side. I try to calculate the time in America as we wait but find that I can’t because I don’t know what time it is here or the exact time difference. With another shrug, I turn back to Altaïr.

“What now?”

“We come back in a few hours and try again,” he says. I nod in agreement and we climb off the building without another word. “For now let us grab something to eat.” he says once we reach the ground.

We head back to the fortress on that note, neither disappointed nor excited. It’s too early to be legitimately concern on not getting back home but the prospect of being here—in this dangerous world—longer than strictly necessary does worry me a bit.

Though the promise of food helps lighten the mood a bit and I follow after Altaïr eagerly. 

“Eat as in food, food? Or more fruits,” I ask curious to see what the Assassin’s eating arrangements are. If they have public baths then I wouldn’t be surprised if they ate together as well. Most of the Assassins seem to live inside the fortress, after all.

Most of the people I’d seen entering and exiting the homes surrounding the fortress had been dressed in regular tunics, not the Assassin’s uniforms. Maybe those are the homes of the families? They never seemed against marriages or actually starting families. Maybe those who have non-assassin family members live with them down in those homes while others, like Altaïr—who’s single and family-less—, live up in the fortress.  

“Yes, food, food,” Altaïr says, a smile in his voice even as he gives me a bemused look. We’re inside the fortress now, heading back towards that out of the way door and I look around the courtyard to find it less crowed than it had been before.

No one’s sparring or practicing, and the only people seem to be the guards.

“Do you guys all eat together?” I ask as we head inside and down the halls.

“Those that are not busy tend to eat around the same time.” he says just as we pull up to a set of double doors. Even closed I can hear the sounds of talking and laughter from those inside. They’re no doubt having a good time from the sound it. “It is late though, so most will be leaving soon.”

He opens one door quietly, allowing the noise to spill out, and motions me in before him. The site that greets me reminds me of a tavern. Men and women laughing and talking as they drink and eat, though most sit with empty plates, on wooden tables and benches.

True to Altaïr’s words, most people begin to file out as we head towards the back of the room where the food is being served by some men and women. There doesn’t look to be much left but we both get a plate with a decent amount of food.

By the time we’ve taken our seats the room is half empty and we get a table to ourselves a little away from the bulk of the people. It’s not as loud as it was either so we enjoy our food in a comfortable silence, me very deliberately not asking just what it is I’m eating.

I’m stuck in a dimension hundreds of years before processed food or any recipe I know. Food is food at this point and I don’t care what it is as long as it doesn’t kill me. 

“Altaïr!”

The yell startles me enough that the food on my fork sails across the room as I jerk. Not that anyone but Altaïr and I notice and the former’s too preoccupied by two figures suddenly dropping onto the bench next to him to say anything.

The one on the left is a man with shaggy black hair pulled into a low ponytail, deep, dark, brown eyes, and a rather nice looking beard. He all but drapes himself over Altaïr as he sits down. He throws his arm over Altaïr’s shoulder, either not seeing the frown on Altaïr’s face or ignoring it completely. The one on the right—also a man—simply sits, back straight and a small frown on his lips. His face is hidden behind his white cowl of his Master Assassin coat but even then I can tell he’s glaring at the other.

“So the rumors are true!” the bearded man says, oblivious to the glares he’s receiving—or just very good at ignoring them—as he turns dark brown eyes my way. He’s dressed in gray robes not those of a master. “You found yourself a friend and she’s a quite the sight as well. I’m jealous.”

“You have no tack, brother,” the one in white growls, a hauntingly arrogant tone to his voice along with an almost unnoticeable accent, but his apparent brother pays him no mind as he releases his grip on Altaïr and leans towards me.

They’re brothers?

“And look at those eyes,” he says, awe coloring every inch of his voice as his hand shoots forward. What he’s aiming to grab at I don’t get to find out as Altaïr stops his arm before he can get too close. It doesn’t stop my flinch though.

“Sorry ‘bout him, M'lady,” the one in white says, tone still slightly arrogant and accent a little more pronounce. It’s familiar one though. If it hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have detected it and yet I can’t place it. “My brother was raised in a barn, unfortunately.”

_M'lady?_

“Oh, shut it, Odell,” the one in grey says, not sounding the least bit chastised. In fact there’s a big goofy smile on his face.

Odell is an English name and the other man is clearly not English. He’s got skin a few shades darker than Altaïr’s and Odell's—from what I can see of Odell that is. In fact, Odell’s skin seems lighter than Altaïr’s so he’s obviously not from this region. That accent make more sense now that I think about it.

Wait, doesn’t everyone in the brotherhood call each other brothers?

“An apprentice, I never thought I’d see the day,” the bearded man says. “I promise you, I suspected Gabr had hit his head when he started sprouting such ridiculousness. I even offered to take him to the healer.”

“And you got smacked for yer troubles,” Odell reminds him and his ‘brother’ nods along as one hand comes up to rub at his chin.

“Abbas may not be a Master but he’s has quite the arm on him.”

“Abbas attacked you?” Altaïr asks, a dangerous tone to his voice and it’s then that I realize just what the fuck is going on.

These are Altaïr’s friends.

It shouldn’t be surprising, it really shouldn’t—he’s a full grown man who travels the world and apparently lives in a very tightknit community (if the fact that they bathe, train, and eat together is anything to go by) of course, he would have at least one friend—but it is surprising. It really, really is and I can do nothing but stare as the men continue to talk.

So they’re all just really close friends.   

“I would not say attacked,” the man, whose name I still don’t know, says, grin still in place. “He simply threw a punch.”

“That yeh failed to deflect and wound up sprawled on the floor,” Odell says, and the tone of his voice obviously implies that he’s rolling his eyes. “Then  _I_ had to take  _you_  to the healers.”

He’s trying to hide his accent, I realize as he carefully pronounces ‘ _you_ _’_ now that he’s putting emphasis on it. Especially since he’s already said ‘yer’ and ‘yeh’.

“Well, what good are you for if not to take my sorry arse to the healer every time my big mouth gets me into trouble?” the bearded man asks, a teasing tone in his voice as he turns to Odell and he cocks his head. There’s such a sense of camaraderie going that, even though Altaïr hasn’t really said anything, I feel like an outsider as I continue to watch them interact.

“Enough, Basim.” Altaïr warns him and that just settles it for me. They’re not brothers and Odell isn’t from Masyaf.

Britain, maybe? It would explain the  _‘_ _M'lady_ _’_  thing and the arrogance. Especially if he’s an aristocrat. He definitely holds himself like one, back straight, shoulders squared and chin kept tilted up. Oh, yeah, he’s definitely a rich boy, now the question is: why is he here?

_“_ _Are you from England?_ _”_

I can’t help myself, the words are out before I can hold them back. My insatiable curiosity gets the best of me buts it’s turn out to be worth it as Basim turns wide, surprise eyes towards me.  

“And she speaks English!” Basim cries. I don’t have to ask to know that I’ve only been speaking in Arabic since coming here though it’s nice to finally have it confirmed. This way I know that I can communicate with anyone I come into contact with, at least. “Oh, brother, how I envy you.”

 _“_ _London, actually."_ Odell says, back going straighter in pride as Basim is ignored. Arrogance oozes off of him now and I’m not too surprised actually. Altaïr was an arrogant bastard himself. Figures that he’d befriend other arrogant asshats.

Basim doesn’t seem too bad though. He’s doesn’t seem arrogant in the least. He appears more playful than anything—read immature—and I’m sure that’s why he’s still not a Master while these two are.

 _“_ _Secrets out of the bag, Blub._ _”_ Basim says, accent heavy as he forcibly switches to English. Do they all speak more than one language? “No need to hide that pretty, little British face of yours,” he teases in Arabic—I can sense him speak in different language even as my mind translates the words into English before I can fully realize that they’ve gone onto another language—as he reaches around Altaïr and yanks the hood off of Odell’s head.

The falling hood reveals a shock of platinum blonde hair—long enough to hang past his shoulders and just so damn straight—wide, crystal blue eyes, and extremely pale skin. Skin so light that I have half a mind to ask him if he’s not Irish instead.

 _“_ _Basim, you pillock!_ _”_  Odell, curses as he yanks his hood back on, hiding his face, all sharp features—and I’m surprised he’s not actually a women—from view. He’s pretty, not handsome, no. The guy is definitely not  _handsome_ because that requires a certain ruggedness that this man doesn’t not possess—Assassin or not. He’s just  _pretty._

_Prison pretty._

“Don’t worry,  _mate_ , the sun can’t get to you in here,” Basim says through a laugh as he leans back into his seat.

Altaïr has gone back to eating at some point, obviously unwilling to waste any more attention on the two weird men. I follow suit, going back to my food but keeping my attention on the men as they continue to tease and bicker with each other.

From what little I’ve seen, I’m a little surprised these two seem to be such great friends. Odell seems like the uptight—arrogant—type while Basim doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. He laughs freely and cracks joke after joke that never fail to rile Odell enough to snap back.

I ignore the fact that I haven’t been introduced to these two yet and I don’t even think I want to at this point. So when Altaïr stands, I do too—unfinished food forgotten—and once again follow after him without prompting. 

Too bad the other two do as well.

“How about a spar, Altaïr?” Basim asks as we exit the mess hall. They walk behind Altaïr and I so only I can see the corners of Altaïr’s mouth pull further down even though he nods his head yes and we head out towards the courtyard.

“Yer a glutton for punishment.” Odell says as we exit into the courtyard and Basim races towards the training ring with a bounce in his step.

“That may be true,” Basim agrees as he steps into the ring and pulls out his sword with all the grace of a trained swordman. “But how would I expect to improve if I were always too afraid of biting off more than I can chew?”

Well, when you put it that way….

“I won’t be taking yeh to the healer’s this time,” Odell says nonetheless as Altaïr joins Basim in the ring and pulls out his sword as well. The fight begins then and instantly Basim goes on the defensive as Altaïr rains attack after attack on him.

Odell and I watch in silence, both of us leaning, side by side, against the ring.

“The name is Odell,” he says, finally introducing himself.

“Yeah, I figured,” I says as I give the man the best smile I can manage and hold out my hand in greeting. “Jennifer.”

“Jennifer?” Odell asks as he takes my hand in his though, instead of shaking, it he brings it to his lips instead. “Would it be correct to assume you are from England as well?”

I’m vaguely aware of Altaïr cursing behind us as Basim lands a hit.

“Nope,” I say as I pull my hand back fast enough to only just still be considered polite. “My name may be English but my blood is not,” I correct him and only just keep myself from saying Mexican or American. I’m not a hundred percent sure if Spain exists yet either so I avoid saying that one as well. 

“Where are you from, then?” Odell asks and, for once, my quick brains fails me for answer because I don’t know what to say. I haven’t thought of what to do in this situation though I really should have. Especially if I have been planning on being here often.

“I, um.” My eyes instantly snap to Altaïr as I try to think of an answer. Basim and Altaïr are still fighting though so I won’t be receiving any help from him. “I come from the North,” I finally say, for a lack of anything better to tell Odell. “My family were travelers and began to travel south years before I was even born so I don’t even know where I come from.”

It’s not impossible, if you think about it. In this time in history almost nothing was ever documented, it wouldn’t be to hard to believe that a family began to travel one day and, as the years went by, they would forget just where their starting point had been.

At least I hope it’s not too impossible.

“Grandmother once said she would run down the streets of Norway as a child,” I say while desperately hoping that Norway does exist in this time in history. Why hadn’t I paid more attention in history class? “Though Grandfather used to swear he met her in Sweden and that Mother was a beautiful dame father picked up during their time in Germany.”

“Germany?” Odell asks, confusion in his voice and face as he looks at me before it clears. “You mean the German Empire?”

“Yeah,” I say, holding back a curse. I really need to ask Altaïr what country do and don’t exist before I mess things up more than I already have. “Grandmother, in her senile years, used to call it Germany. It annoyed Mother to no end and kind of stuck with the rest of us.” 

He takes my explanation with no questions though it could be because our attention is drawn back to the fight before he can say anything.

Basim is on the floor, laughing hysterically even though he’s just had the snot beat out of him. Altaïr stands above him, not looking the least bit fazed. He helps Basim to his feet and pats him on his back when the bearded man gives him a toothy grin.

“You have improved.”

“You have been gone too long,” Basim counters before he heads towards Odell and me. “I should rank up soon,” he says excitement coloring every inch of his voice as he joins Odell and I on the outside of the ring. “I will be coming before the Grand Master for the final assessment within the month.”

“Congratulations, brother.” Altaïr says, sincerity in his voice as he claps Basim on the shoulder once more. Basim gives him another grin—this man really is full of them—as he nods his head. Odell says nothing and a comfortable silence falls over us. We stay there even as another pair of men move to use the training ring.

“Altaïr.”

Once again the silence is shattered by the call of his name. Though this time it is just a call and not a yell. We turn as one towards the voice, just as Malik reaches us and just seeing him is enough to fill my stomach with dread.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t mind the guy at all during the game. Hell, he and Altaïr have one hell of a bromance going on by the end of the game but there’s just so much suffering and grief and just all around  _horrible_ things involved with this one man that he’s become a god damn omen in my mind.

My words have never been proven so correct then in the moment he speaks.

“It is time, Altaïr.”

The world stops, crashes, and burns as my gaze flickers to Altaïr.

His are on me as well and when our gazes lock everything freezes. I don’t know how long we stand there, gazes locked but it’s only when his hand latches onto my arm that the world starts moving again. He pulls me into his chest, strong and sturdy, and I use it to anchor myself back into the world as he speaks.

“Allow me to tie up a few loose strings,” he tells Malik and doesn’t bother to wait for his answer as he begins to head back into the fortress. “I will meet you at the gates before the hour.”

I don’t say anything as he drags me into the fortress and to his room. I keep my mouth shut until after were safe from prying eyes and ears. And even then I’m mindful of the Assassin’s exceptional hearing so I hold up a hand when Altaïr moves to speak and tap my ear with the other.

He understands and I move to grab my pack from where I left it the night before while he moves around the room, gathering his own things for the mission. By the time I turn back around to face him he once again has an arsenal of weapons on his person.

We leave the room in silence and exit the fortress in much the same manner. Neither one of us talk until we’re safely up on the roof, standing in front of the swirl. I toss another handful of hay and pray for a quick response as I turn to face Altaïr.

“What do I need to know?” 

“I don’t know,” I whine as I pace the roof. “I don’t know what I can tell you other than to follow your god damn Creed to the letter. Don’t kill any innocents, don’t draw attention to yourself, and don’t put the Brotherhood in danger. That’s it, that's all I can tell you without having to worry about messing everything up.”

“Follow the Creed?”

“Yes! Don’t be brash or arrogant,” I tell him as I move towards him. My hands are on his shoulders before I can think better of it and I make sure to catch his gaze as I speak, “Bring them home, Altaïr. You make sure to bring Malik and Kadar home, okay?”

“I will.” he says with such conviction in his voice that I don’t doubt him. I pull away from him with a firm nod, then.

“Go then, I’ll wait here,” I say as I nod towards the gates. “It’s almost been a full day anyways, they should be ready soon.” I say just as a ball comes sailing through the swirl and right at us.

Altaïr catches it easily enough and passes it to me without a word. There’s only one word written on it but it’s enough and I once again clutch it to my chest as I head towards the swirl.

_Jump._

—      _A_

“How far away is Solomon’s Temple, Altaïr?” I ask as I stand in front of the swirl. I glance back to find him watching me.  

“It’s a five day ride.”

“I’ll see you in ten days then.” I tell him, wide smile on my face as I jump.   

~oOo~

Pillows, pillows everywhere. Small pillows, big pillows, throw pillows, and even body pillows. They are fucking  _everywhere._ I'm drowing in them but they keep me from going splat against the newly reparied attic floor so I keep my complaints to myself as I claw my way out of the pillow pit. 

Hands pull me from the pit before I can even get all the way out and I'm set on my feet almost carefully. When I look up I find myself surrounded by my family, all of them gearing up to tear into me for being so reckless but I ignore them and search Kenny out.

He stands in the back of the room, in front of a bunch of computers and other mechanical equipment, but I catch his eyes instantly.

"The game is starting, Ken." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Quick question, would anyone mind too terribly if Slash (Yaoi, M/M) made an appearence in this story?**


	11. Ch 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go!
> 
> It's show time!
> 
> Solomon's Temple!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Altaïr's POV_

_Something is wrong._

He can feel it in the air even as he continues to creep forward. Malik and Kadar trail behind him, allowing him to lead even as Malik glares a hole into is back. The other is not happy but not because of anything he has done recently. 

No. Malik just plain doesn't like him. Not that Altaïr can blame him. Now that his eyes have been opened—cleared of the arrogance that once clouded them—he knows that his past actions haven't exactly made him Malik's favorite person. 

Or anyone else’s for that matter.

He's amazed Odell and Basim have stayed at his side.

The distinct noise of someone shuffling ahead has him slowing. One hand goes up to touch his ear before he holds it up, commanding Malik and Kadar to stop. A quick look behind him shows that Malik's eyes hold fire, daring him to make the wrong move, while Kadar watches him eagerly. 

He knows what he would have done before.

Before Jennifer and the mysterious woman and time traveling he would have sprang forward and killed whoever it is that's around the corner without a thought. Now though, he flattens himself against the tunnel wall and edges towards the slight bend.

Jennifer’s warning still rings in his ears even after six day:

_"Follow your god damn creed to the letter.”_

He peers around the corner to find an elderly man, all white hair and wrinkled skin, kneeling in the tunnel. The old man is dressed in Templar robes and the bad feeling in his stomach increase as he listens to the old man mumble a prayer.

_His instincts have never lead him wrong._

If there’s one here than that can only mean there is more ahead. He’s not really surprised to see them here though. He knows that they’re here for the same reason he is.

The treasure.

It had been three years ago that Salah Al’din and his Saracens had captured Jerusalem and that the Christians had responded by taxing their people to fund their Third crusade. Three years since the men in chain mail had once again marched across the Holy Land, laying siege to its cities.

Altaïr knows that King Richard, the Lionheart, had recently recaptured Arce just like he knows that the man’s greatest desire is to take back Jerusalem. Since nowhere is there a more scared place than the Temple Mount and the ruins of the Temple of Solomon.

Jerusalem maybe under Salah Al’din’s control but even that doesn’t seem to be enough to stop those who wear the red cross. They’re still here, crawling around Jerusalem and he intends to find out exactly why but first…

What should he do about the old man?

He pulls back, leaning against the wall momentarily, before heaving a quiet sigh and pushing off the wall. He makes away to the kneeling man silently. He decides that, if he can’t kill the old man, the least he can do is knock the man out so he won’t alert the others to the fact that they’re not alone in the tunnels.

He grabs the unsuspecting man in a sleeper's hold. Once his struggling stops, Altaïr lowers him carefully to the ground before heading back to where he's left the others.

“Is he dead?” Malik asks, accusation in his voice and anger on his face. Though surprise replaces it when Altaïr shakes his head.

“We must go before he wakes,” Altaïr says, urging the others to move because the man won’t be out for long. “Scout ahead, Malik.”

Malik gives him a long look but goes ahead without a word. Following his command because Altaïr outranks him. Kadar lingers behind, the hero worship undeniable in his eyes as he stares up at Altaïr. He has to keep himself from shifting uncomfortably under such a heavy gaze. Though, in that back of his mind, he realizes that the old him would have preen under such a look.

“What is our mission,” Kadar asks eagerly. Almost bouncing in place as he waits for Altaïr's answer and Altaïr can’t keep himself from giving the boy a once over. He’s not quite sure whose decision it had been to send the novice out with them. “My brother would say nothing to me, only that I should be honored to have been invited.”

_Had it been Malik’s or the Master’s?_

“The Master believes the Templars have found something beneath the Temple Mount,” he says distractedly, eyes drifting to the man he knew he would have once killed. Altaïr waves the boy off before he can say anything else.

Kadar darts off after his brother with a nod and Altaïr keeps his gaze on the old man for a moment longer. He’s spared his life. The little old Templar man still lives where many others had fallen and a part of him wonders how it’s possible that Jennifer’s had such an impact on him in just two days.

Maybe if he pinned her on Abbas, she’d sprout a miraculous attitude change in him, as well.

He sets off just as the old man begins to rouse. It’s already too late for him to alert the others, what with the Assassins ahead of him, so Altaïr doesn’t spare him another thought.

He finds Malik and Kadar waiting for him on the other side of a series of pits. He leaps across the cross beams with ease, joining them on the other side momentarily before running past them. They follow easily enough, clambering up the ladder after him. They go much more slowly whereas he takes it at a run.

When he reaches the top, he finds an elevated chamber and yet another Templar. This one is a guard though, not an old man, so he has no choice. He moves behind the man, quietly, careful not to draw his attention, and raises his hands.

His left hand ready to trigger his blade while his right is ready to silence the guard. He strikes at the same time as he engages the blade, ramming it into the guard’s spine while his right hand smothers the man’s dying scream.

For a second they stand there, frozen in time as the man’s last breath tickles the palm of his hand before the man slumps forwards. Altaïr lets him go, gently lowering him to the ground and taking an extra second to brush his eyelids closed.

He gets no enjoyment for it, not like he would have before. He doesn’t look at Malik and Kadar as they make their way through the poorly guarded arch. With one last look at the dead man, he follows after them.

And that’s when all hell breaks loose.

He not sure what happens, he doesn’t even get a chance to look around. One second he’s walking into a vast chamber lit by candle light and the next the room is cast in a golden glow and _she_ stands before them.

There’s something in her hand, casting a bright golden glow across the room, as she watches them. Behind her, Altaïr spots Robert de Sable—the Templar Grand Master—staring blankly ahead. Even from a distance Altaïr can tell his eyes are glazed over, unseeing and his men behind him don’t look much better.

For a moment Altaïr wonders if the guard he’s just killed had been suffering from the same effects.

His eyes dart back to the woman. He tries to engrave her looks into his memory so he can tell Jennifer how she looks—if he survives this that is because none of this is looking good.

There’s an orange glow about her, the same orange glow that he saw the first time. Her head gear is big, oval, covering her entire head with thick straps buckled under her chin. Everything else about her is white, white billowing cloth—Altaïr isn’t sure if it’s a tunic or a dress—and long, pin straight hair.

“It was a mistake,” she says, her voice bouncing around the room, seeming to come from all directions. “It was not meant to open so soon.”

Altaïr watches as she beckons de Sable and the man goes to her instantly. There’s an odd rigidness to his walk though, almost as if there’s an invisible force pulling him forward. He moves to her side and stands there faithfully, nonetheless.

“Things must progress as they should have,” she continues a sadness to her voice as she lifts her hand, palm up, and crooks two fingers. For a second Altaïr fears that his limbs will answer to her call without his permission but they don’t because she’s not asking for _him._

Kadar is on the ground before he can try to hold him back. He jumps down from the elevated chamber they’re standing on and moves before the woman, the same rigidness to his movements as de Sable. Beside him, Malik gives a muffled shout but makes no move to stop his brother.

Altaïr doesn’t think Malik can.

The sound of de Sable unsheathing his sword is loud. It echoes around the room and yet Kadar doesn’t bother to pull out his own. He just stands there, unable to move without a command from the woman. None of them seem to be able to move.

_But he can._

He shoots forward without a thought and manages to block de Sable’s sword, pushing the boy out of the way before de Sable can bring it down on his head. The sound of swords clashing rings around the room and Altaïr's close enough to see the woman grimace at the sound.

“Get rid of him,” she tells de Sable and this time the Templar Grand Master doesn’t fight that command. A hand wraps around Altaïr's throat before he even realizes he can no longer move. An invisible weight lands on his shoulder, pinning him in place long enough for de Sable to grab him.

“She will not do your bidding if you kill them,” Altaïr warns the woman even as the edges of his vision begins to darken when the hand around his throat tightens. His gaze is on the woman though, Jennifer’s order to bring Malik and Kadar home clear to him now.

They will die down here.

“She wants them brought home,” he chokes out, even though he’s not sure if his threat will spare their lives. The woman simply gazes at him with unimpressed, orange glowing eyes. She regards him with disinterest as he splutters and chokes before she turns back to de Sable. 

“Do not kill him.”

“I have a message for your mentor,” Robert de Sable says after nodding to the woman. His grip on Altaïr's throat loosen enough that the creeping darkness at the edge of his vision withdraws. “The Holy Land is lost to him and his. He should flee now, while he has the chance. Stay and all of you will die.”

And with that he’s thrown towards the back wall of the chamber. He crashes through the wall, the ancient stone crumbling and collapsing, and lands into a small room on the other side. He roll with the crash, his training keeping from taking too much damage and then he just lays there.

He stares up at the ceiling, stun, for a moment before surging to his feet and returning to the fight. Well, he tries to but he finds the entrance to the Temple blocked.

“Men. To arms!” he hears de Sable cry from inside the Temple. The sound of clashing swords echoes from the other side and the shame that grips him feels like a physical wound. “Kill the Assassins.”

_He’s failed her._

The sound of Kadar and Malik screams as they fall are burned into his memory as he turns and makes his way out of the tunnel empty handed. He isn’t sure what hurts more, the fact that he failed his mission and thus failed his Master or the fact that he’s failed Jennifer.

~oOo~

“Are you sure about this?”

“If Altaïr does mess up, an army of Templars will be marching through those gates any day now,” I tell Ken, eyes kept on the nail between my fingers as I bring a hammer down on it. “They’ll lay siege to this entire village. Still, even if they don’t, it’s better to hide the swirl than to keep it out in the open.”

Kenny hammers his own nails into the wooden structure we’re building. Surprisingly, we don’t draw anyone’s attention as we basically build a garden on the roof. It’s two times the sizes of the other gardens, but this high up we’d figured nobody would realize it.

“What if an Assassin accidentally tries to hide in here?” Ken asks, bring down his hammer for the last time. With the last nail in we toss our hammers on the floor and turn our attention to the curtains.

They’re a nice dark color and thick. Black out curtains of the best quality. They’ll keep the light from the swirl in even at night. We hang them with Velcro fastener so that they’ll come off easily when we crash through them. It’s better that they break off, than the wood.

“Video Game Logic, Ken,” I tell him as I secure the curtains. “What reason could anyone, in this Video Game Logic run world, have to hide up here?”

“The village is being attacked,” he says as I finish fastening the last curtain.

“Nah,” I mutter with a shake of my head. “If the village was under attack, they’d probably—”

“No, Jen,” Ken say as his hands land on my shoulders and turn me towards the gates. “The village is being attacked!”

It’s only then that the screams register to my mind. As the villagers run towards the castle for safety, their screams reach us. Smoke drift from the houses closer to the gates. Women and children run past the building we stand on while men in armor race towards the gates.

“Fuck,” I mumble and Ken nods silently next to me. “Looks like he did mess up.”

We stand up on the roof silently, watching as the Templars slowly push pass the Assassins’ defenses. The building we stand on is on the far side of the Village, deep into it. So, it takes a while for us to see the first Templar.

Once we do, though, I spring into action.

“What do we do?” Ken ask and I just give him a wide grin before racing towards the ladder. “No, wait. Jen! Don’t!”

I ignore him as I climb down as quickly as I can. I jump down at the last steps, feet landing solidly on the dirt. With a quick look at Ken, who still stands on the top of the building, I race off towards the castle.

“We for me there, Ken. I’ll be back.”

There is nothing but chaos as I go.

Tears and screams and cries of horror and pain. I ignore them all as I race up the hill, pass mothers and daughters and sons and children in tears. More than once I find bodies, both civilian and Assassin. Cut down, they lie in a pool of blood, bodies broken beyond repair.

I continue to ignore the horror as I run, though I’m in the thick of it too soon for my liking.

Swords clash around me. The sound of ring metal coming from all directions along with the sound of more bodies hitting the floor. The causalities are from both sides. Men with red crosses fall but not nearly as often as the men in hoods do.

As I watch another Assassin fall, my legs bringing me to a screeching halt. It’s then that I begin to wonder just what I had been thinking. I could very well die here. The fighting continues around me as I stand there, mind and body frozen.

“Jennifer!”

For a second I fear that Ken’s run after me but I don’t get to think on it too much as I’m tackle to the ground. Seconds later, a sword swings. It’s path leading to where I had just been standing. We roll across the floor, me and the person that’s tackles me. 

“What were you thinking?” Odell asks as he glares down at me, blue eyes burning. He’s up as soon as we stop rolling and he yanks me to my feet before I get the world to stop spinning. “Lesson number one, Novice. Never hesitate. It can get you killed.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, intent on saying more but Odell is facing off with a Templar before I can. Sword locked with the Templar’s, faces only a hairs breaths away, he takes the opportunity to sink his hidden blade into the man’s neck.

“Get to the fortress,” he calls as he pulls his hidden blade free and turns to his next opponent. I nod, though he doesn’t see it. Shock broken, I continue towards my destination while mentally blocking out all the blood and gore around me.

_‘This was a really bad idea.’_

The guards part easily once I reach the gate to the fortress. I’m dressed in the pink tunic from before so they don’t even glance at me as they usher me inside. Their eyes are too busy scanning for approaching Templars.

There’s an air of subdued panic inside the courtyard. Adrenaline pumping and fear coursing through the veins of the civilians but the relief of reaching safety far outweighs it. Some sit slumped against the walls, trying to catch their breath. Some lay crumpled on the floor, mourning loved ones. While others pace the courtyards, eyes flickering back to the gates every few minutes as they wait to see if the Templars will fight their way in.

I choose to ignore it again as I search him out. My eyes look for him, skimming over civilian after civilian. That’s all there is, civilian and men in gray hoods—novices. There’s no Master Assassin in sight. They’re all fighting down in the village.

Al Mualim still hasn’t called the retreat.

I edge back towards the gate, waiting for the first Master Assassin’s to come back. It takes a while still for the retreat to happen and throughout the whole time I find myself desperately trying to tune out the sound of anguished cries.

Odell is the first recognizable face through the gates when the retreat is finally called.

Altaïr is the last.

He walks calmly after the others, head down, cowl hiding his eyes from view so he doesn’t see me. He doesn’t realize I’m there until after I’ve made my way towards him and place my hands on both sides of his face.

“It’s okay,” I say as bright, pained, golden eyes snap to mine. There’s shame and guilt and pain etched in his face. I try my best to sooth it away, one hand coming up to brush away the furrow in his brow. His hand comes up to hold my other one against his cheek. “Everything will be fine.”

“I couldn’t save him.”

“I know,” I whisper a small smile on my face even though there’s nothing to smile about. “But you tried and that’s all that matters.”

There’s no doubt in my mind that he did. 

“Altaïr,” Odell’s panicked voice comes from my left. It shatters our moment but I forgive it as I catch the look on his face. He’s hoods off, pushed back by frantic hands as he tries to tie his hair back so I catch a good look at his panic-stricken expression. “I can’t find Basim.”

“Calm, brother,” Altaïr says, hand coming up to pat Odell calmly on the shoulder. “I am sure he is fine.”

I pull away from him then and turn my attention to the man just as Altaïr’s name is called again. This time it comes from above us and all three of us look up. An Assassin stand on the rampart of the fortress, in front of the Flanking Tower. He beckons Altaïr forward with a wave of his hand.

“Come.”

Altaïr spares Odell and me a look before heading towards the calling man. Rauf I think was his name.

“Where are we going?” he asks even as he beings to walk up the slight cliff towards the man. Odell and I share a brief look before we move after him.

“We have a surprise for our guests,” Rauf says as he points up higher up towards the Flanking Tower. “Just do as I do. It should be clear soon enough,” Rauf mutters as he turns to enter the tower and we follow him without another word.

Altaïr goes up the ladder first but not without one long look in my direction. I urge him forward with a smile and a wave of my hand. Completely ignoring the fact that he probably doesn’t want me up there and possibly isn’t actually asking for encouragement.

I go next, my fear of heights causing me to move slowly, though I manage. Odell climbs patiently after me, not showing any sign of irritation. When we reach the top Altaïr doesn’t stops us. He urges us forward, actually. Ushers us towards the next ladder when his eyes catch sight of Al Mualim.

A hand goes to the small of my back and pushes me past the tower arch way not that the Master even turns our way. He’s too busy. He stands on the curtain wall looking down at the Templars while Robert De Sable and he trade barbs.

I go willing nonetheless, desperate to remain hidden from the Big Bad Boss for as long as I can.

“Stand on the platform Altaïr,” Rauf says and he goes silently.

Odell and I move towards the edge, though we make sure not to stand on his platform. We stand just behind it and peer down at the bickering leaders and waiting Templar army. This high up, you can see the whole village, the houses and gates, and the bodies littering the floor.

My eyes go to the roof garden instantly, searching for Ken but I don’t find him. No panic comes from that, though. Ken isn’t stupid enough to get himself caught. My assumptions are prove correct as I watch the curtains part slightly.

 _“Heretic,”_ Robert de Sable roars, his voice reaching us all easily. “Return what you have stolen from me.”

“You have no claim to it,” Al Mualim replies, he’s voice reaching us just as easily as de Sable’s. It sends shivers down my spine. Causes goosebumps to raise across my body because this man is dangerous. Extremely dangerous. “Take yourself from here before I’m force to thin your ranks further.”

“You play a dangerous game,” Robert warns him but Al Mualim doesn’t seem the least bit concern.

“I assure you, this is no game.”

“So be it,” Robert says and even this high up I can see the malice in his eyes. “Bring forward the hostage.”

I know about this. I know Robert de Sable will bring forth a novice and slaughter him in front of everyone. I’m as mentally prepared for it as I can be. I ready to watch some nameless Novice be cut down in front of the whole Brotherhood.

“Basim.”

Except the novice brought forth isn’t some nameless nobody.

Odell hisses his name, a hundred percent sure that the man brought forth is none other than his missing friend. Altaïr’s gazes snaps to us at the sound of Basim’s name. He motions the guards standing around to grab hold of Odell as the man takes a step on to his platform. Instantly, two Assassins shoot forward, grabbing hold of Odell before the man can do anything rash.

I watch them, tighten their grip on him as he begins to thrash in their hold. One even goes so far as to cover his mouth when Odell opens it to cry out as Basim’s is head is pulled back. He throat is exposed, the long column of flesh bare for all to see as soldier sweeps his blade across it.

A river a blood hits the floor as Basim falls.

That’s…That not how it happened in the game.

The Assassin had not had his neck sliced open, he’d been stabbed through the heart.

_What the fuck?_

Odell’s muffles cries pull my attention back to him. I don’t miss the fire and pain in his eyes as de Sables moves towards Basim’s body. On foot goes on the dying man’s back and his cross his arms his chest in triumphant as he stands over the dead Assassins.

As Odell’s yells, even muffled, continue to get louder as he’s pulled away from the edge. The man holding him drag him away from the scene. They haul him deep into the Flanking Tower where he suddenly goes quiet. I don’t turn to see what’s happened.

My entire attention is held by the two Masters still facing off.

“Your village lies in ruin and your store are hardly endless,” Robert taunts Al Mualim from where he stands. “How long before your fortress crumbles from within? How disciplined will your men remain when your wells run dry and their food is gone.”

Once again Al Mualim doesn’t look bothered by Robert’s line of questioning. He stands strong and proud and confident as he speaks.

“My men do not fear death, Robert,” Al Mualim says calmly. “They welcome it—and the reward that it brings.”

“Good,” de Sable says. “Then they shall have it all around.”

“Follow me,” Rauf says pulling our attention to him. “And do so without hesitation.”

“Show this fool knight what it is to have no fear,” Al Mualim yells as his attention finally turns to us. I don’t know if he can see me from where I stand but I pull away from the ledge just in case. “Go to god.”

Altaïr’s jump is flawless.

He looks every bit the eagle he is named after as he dives off the platform and to the hay pile below. With Altaïr gone I turn my attention to Odell and find the man sprawled on the floor.

“What happened?”

“We simply put him to sleep,” one of the guards says as he stands over the unconscious man. There’s a nervous look in his eyes that says he’s not too sure if that had been the right thing to do. “We could not have him ruining The Master’s plan.”

I nod my head in understanding even though I want nothing more than to slap the idiots. Sure, Odell was being a little loud, maybe a smidge hysterical but that’s not a good reason to knock someone out. Making sure to keep myself in check so I won’t glare at the guards, I kneel down next to Odell and brush the hair from his face.

“How long will he be out?” I asks as I settle down next to him. I pull his head into my lap when it looks like no one will bother to move him. Not that they actually can. Carrying an unconscious men down from a Flanking Tower must be tricky, if not completely impossible.

“A few minutes,” the guards say, watching us curiously. “We simply put him into a sleeper’s hold. He should wake soon.”

I nod my head again and the guard doesn’t say anything else. His attention is drawn by other guards as they see to helping the Assassin who broke his leg during his leap of faith.

As promised, it’s not too long after he leaves that Odell begins to rouses. A moan pass through his lips, hand coming up to rub one eye as he opens the other. When he catches sight of me he groans again.

“Please,” he whispers, voice soft and pleading as he locks eyes with me. “Please, tell me it was just a dream.”

“I’m sorry, Odell.”

_“No.”_

The soft cry breaks my heart and I clutch the man to me as he breaks down in tears.

_“Please, not my Basim.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I've never actually created a character with the sole purpose of killing them off. This is actually a first for me and I'm somewhat impressed with myself. Killing off characters has never been my forte, after all.


	12. Ch 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Le Gasp!_
> 
> Twice in one month???
> 
> It's a miracle!
> 
> _Merry (Late) Christmas_

Death.

The smell of it hangs heavily in the air. It surrounds the village although the bodies are less than an hour old. With so many of them, though, it’s not surprising. There’s bodies everywhere I look while Odell and I continue to stand on the Flanking Tower.

Well, sit really.

We’re sitting on the ledge, our legs dangling over the cliff as we watch the last of the Templars retreat. Odell stares blankly ahead, any emotion on his face or in his eyes once again hidden by his hood. He’s tense though, stiff.

His eyes are focus on one specific body.

We don’t know if it’s actually him.

At least not yet but Odell’s demeanor doesn’t give me much hope. If anyone here would know if they had really cut down Baism it would be Odell. They’re close enough for it. Even this high up, I’m sure I would have been able to make out Kenny if it had been him down there.

“My mother always was an insightful woman,” Odell whispers, voice soft and fragile. I almost lose it to the fast winds that whip my hair around us. This high up, the winds are brutal. “I see now why she chose to name me Malory.”

“Malory?” I ask just as quietly. Guards still linger around us so I make sure to whisper as well. I try to pretend we have some semblance of privacy as Odell finally says something that isn’t laden with pain.

“Luckless,” he explains just as I spot Altaïr walking up the hill and towards the gates. At least, I’m fairly certain it’s him. When the figure stops to kneel by the hostage’s body, I know I was right in my assumptions. “Malory Lorne Odell, The Luckless, Forsaken, Woad Hill. Father would laugh if he realized just how right Mother would turn out to be.”

“Forsaken?” I ask, eyes still trained on Altaïr. He looks up toward us after he turns the body over. All it takes is a nod and I know Odell was right. My hand clasps onto his arm as I see him begin to tremble when he too catches Altaïr’s nod in our direction.

Oddly enough, I feel no need to go to Altaïr in this moment. Instead, I clasp Odell’s trembling hand in mine as I wait to see what more he’ll say.

“Did you not wonder what I am doing here?” he asks, voice wobbling slightly as Altaïr scoops Basim’s body into his arms and continues his walk to fortress’ gates. “Miles away from home and hidden away in a brotherhood that is not my own?”

I don’t answer him, just continue to watch as Altaïr enters the fortress.

“I turned my back on my family,” he says, voice still a whisper even though the guards begin to leave the Flanking Tower. Everyone’s moved to gather around the courtyard. I know what’s coming next and am in no hurry to see it. “I left them. Stood in front of my father and did not even falter when he threaten to come after me for defecting.

“I was not defecting, though,” Odell mutters, ducking his head. The hand in mine tightens it’s grip but I don’t flinch or pull away. “I was simply coming to work for another order. I am still an Assassin, still fighting Templars. The Grand Master in the British Order knew it. He understood and stayed my father’s hand.

“It did not mean all was right, though,” he whispers, raising to his feet. For a second I fear he’ll leap off to meet his end. He’s not in the right frame of mind but my worries turn out to be for not as he tugs me to my feet as well. “Father disowned me but it did not matter to me. Nothing matter.” 

“Why?” I ask. He doesn’t turn to look at me. He continues to stare out towards the horizon. His gaze is locked on the clouds and setting sun, face tilted just enough for me to catch the pained, yet oddly calm, look on it.

“Because I did it for him,” he says, blue eyes coming down to lock with mine. The amount of pain in them makes my chest clench. “Because I loved him enough to face all the consequence head on but…he did not.”

“What?”

His words throw me for a loop. Tosses my world sideways as the broken man before me releases my hand and begins to walk towards the courtyard. His back is straight. His earlier meltdown and heartache hidden behind a façade of disinterest once again as makes his way down the ladder.

I scrabble after him once the shock wears off. Questions whirl around in my head but I don’t get the chance to ask them. As soon as we reach the ground, we come face to face with Altaïr.

The Basim in his arms is still, pale. Nothing like the lively novice that I’d watch get up time and time again even though Altaïr always knocked him back down. There’s no life to him anymore. No cheerful smile and jokes and, even though I only met him once, I know I’ll miss him.

Odell’s nonchalant attitude continues as he stares down at the body in Altaïr’s arm. It surprises me and yet doesn’t at the same time. Odell is obviously a master of burying his feelings, if what I’ve seen in the last few minutes is anything to go by. So it’s not too surprising to see him like this.

What does surprise me is when he opens his arms up for the body even as he continues to hold his disinterested expression.

“I will bring him to his family,” he whispers and Altaïr pass him over without a word. Odell disappears into the crowd then. The body in his arms one amongst many to be buried or burned.

“Tell me,” I whisper once I turn my attention back to Altaïr. He watches Odell leave, gaze trailing after the heartbroken man. “Tell me what happened. What went wrong?”

We’re far away enough from the bulk of people that I don’t fear being over heard. That and they’re all a little more preoccupied with mourning loved ones than to eavesdrop.

“She was there,” Altaïr whispers back and I look at him in shock but don’t manage to catch his gaze. “She did not tell me her name nor did I ask for it,” he tells me before I can ask and I nod for him to continue. He doesn’t see it, though, as he keeps staring towards the crowded courtyard. “She…did something. She gained control over their minds. I asked her to spare Malik and Kadar’s lives but she did not listen.”

“What…what did she say, Altaïr?”

“She said it was a mistake,” he mumbles, head turned to the side. He’s not looking at me. He won’t look at me. “She said that it opened too soon and things must progressed as they should. I tried to stop her. I tried to save Kadar but I could not. She stopped me. I do not know how but she did. I—”

“Altaïr.”

“—tried to save him. I did but I could not,” he rambles and the pain in his voice—small and almost unnoticeable—causes me to react without thinking. My hands go to his cheeks and forcibly turn his gaze my way. Even with his hood up, I find his golden eyes and lock onto them. “I failed you.”

“You did no such thing,” I tell him, voice soothing and calm. “I knew the outcome of your mission. I knew Kadar was going die. You didn’t fail me,” I whisper but he begins to shake his head in denial so I grip his cheek harder. “Listen to me, Altaïr. Kadar was a dead man walking. If this is the way _she_ wanted it then here was nothing we could have done about that.”

“Then what was the point?” he asks, golden gaze locked onto mine. The look in his eyes, defeated and yet enraged, stun me. “What was the point of all of this? Why would they make us suffer through all of this if we cannot change anything?”

I don’t get to respond.

I don’t have a response.

Before I can think of anything to say we’re surrounded by guards. They crowd around us, blocking any chance at escape as they set their eyes on Altaïr.

“The Master has called for you,” one of them says. He’s the biggest of the group with his face and mouth completely hidden by his hood and mask. Altaïr says nothing in response, just nods his head and steps towards the guards.

“You as well,” another one says, face as equally hidden when I make no move to follow after Altaïr.

“Why?” Altaïr asks, voice dangerous as he turns towards the speaker.

“The Master would like to see just who could gain the attention of the _mighty_ Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad,” another ones says, voice cruel as he moves behind me and pushes me forward. “I must admit I was expecting more. This runt must be amazing in bed to have captured your attention.”

 _“Silence,”_ the first one growls, the menacing tone to his voice very real as his hand goes down to clutch at his sword. “Novice or Master, you will treat your brothers and sisters with respect,” he growls at the last Asshat to speak and I find myself drifting towards him as we begin to walk. “Now, come. The Master awaits.”

Sure, Altaïr is probably a better fighter than all of them, but Big and Scary over here seems to be the leader. And if he doesn’t necessarily hate my guts then it’s safer to travel closer to him than those who do.

The crowd part easily for us as we head towards Al Mualim. He stands on his platform, hushing the gather Assassins and Villagers as we make our way to him. Once there, he motions Altaïr before him. A gentle push from Big and Scary tells me that Al Mualim intends for me to join Altaïr on the platform as well.

I can’t stop the shiver that crawls down my spine as Al Mualim’s gaze lands on me. What he makes of me, I can’t tell because his gaze remains calm and blank before going back to Altaïr. I stand there, awkwardly, on Altaïr right as Al Mualim speaks.

“An Apprentice,” Al Mualim whispers for our ears alone. “I was proud to hear you had finally taken one,” he says, gaze flickering back to me. “But now I wish you had not,” he continues, remorse in his voice as he finally pitches his voice louder. “You did well to drive Robert from here.”

There is unmistakable pride in his voice.

“His force is broken and it shall be a long while before he troubles us again,” Al Mualim says before his voice takes on a different tone. It turns inquisitive as he asks, “Tell me…do you know why it is you were successful?”

There’s long paused, one where we don’t know what to say. Al Mualim seems to expect this though.

“You were successful because you listened,” Al Mualim says and I know I’m not the only one confused as Altaïr tilts his head to the side. “Were it that you listened in Solomon’s Temple, Altaïr…all of this would have been avoided.”

As Al Mualim turns his gaze back to the gathered crowd, arm spanning out to indicate the whole courtyard as he indicates what he's talking about. Altaïr and I share a brief and confused look. Both of our expression state the same thing.

_‘What the fuck is going on?’_

“I did as I was asked,” Altaïr says once he turn his gaze back to Al Mualim. There’s confusion in his voice and no doubt would be easily recognizable on his face if it wasn’t hidden from view.

Wait a minute….

This is the same speech.

Altaïr’s about to be demoted!

“No,” Al Mualim snaps before he can say anymore, eyes burning with fury. “You did as you pleased,” he snarls and I give him a look that no doubt translates into calling him an idiot. Thank God no one’s looking my way, though. “Malik has told me of the arrogance you displayed. Your disregards for our ways.”

Malik? What the fuck had he gone around saying? Altaïr all but begged for their lives. Ungrateful bastard. Altaïr should have just let Minerva— _wait_!

_‘She gained control of their minds.’_

The apple!

_‘Things must progress as they should have.’_

She used the apple. Minerva, Juno, whoever the hell it had been, must have used it to make sure Malik would say what she wanted him to see.

I was wrong.

Thinking those words hurts but it seems to be the truth of the matter. I wasn’t brought here to save anyone. I’m not supposed to change anything. It must of all been some huge coincident that I was reading too much in to. 

No one chose me to do anything because everything still happened the way it would have.

Kadar is still dead, Malik is still armless, and Altaïr still going to be demoted.

The guards step forward. Two go towards Altaïr, each grabbing hold of an arm while the last one simply wraps an arm around my waist. He pins me in place easily as I stare at Al Mualim in horror.

“What are you doing?”

It isn’t true.

“There are rules. We are nothing if we do not abide by the Assassin’s Creed. Three simple Tenets, which you seem to have forgotten. I will remind you. First and foremost: Stay your blade….”

Malik’s been duped.

“From the blood of an innocent, I know.”

Altaïr didn’t betray anyone.

“And stay your tongue unless I give you leave to use it!” Al Mualim roar combined with the sight of him slapping Altaïr snaps me out of my stunned state. Once free of the shock, I wiggle in my captor’s arms even though I know I have no hope of getting free because the one holding me is Big and Scary. “If you are so familiar with this Tenet, then why did you kill the old man inside the temple? He was innocent. He did not need to die.”

“I did not kill him,” Altaïr says, calm in the face of Al Mualim’s anger as he once again speaks out of turn. He keeps his head lowered respectfully, though. No doubt expecting another hit but it doesn’t come.

“Are you calling Malik a lair?”

“No, I am simply saying he misunderstood the situation,” Altaïr says, lifting his head to meet Al Mualim’s gaze. “Travel weary, suffering from blood loss, and grieving for his brother, it is easy for him to mix reality with fantasy.”

“The old man lives?”

“A sleeper’s hold,” Altaïr says by way of explanation with a nod before tilting his head to the side. “You saw the condition Malik arrived in as well as I did. How can you take his words as truth and yet reject my own?”

“Because you are simply trying to save your hide,” Al Mualim says, not the least bit thrown off by Altaïr’s words. “It is true, though, that it is unfair of me to believe Malik without allowing you to plead your own case but a Tenet has still been broken. We have been compromised.”

“And I will accept my punishment for my hand in that without compliant,” Altaïr says, once again bowing his head in respect. “I should have waited to see if Malik or Kadar would exit the tunnel instead of rushing back here. By leaving as I did, I have broken a Tenet and am prepared to pay for it.”

“Something has changed,” Al Mualim whispers, low enough that the words don’t make it past those of us on the platform. “You are not the same man you were before you left. What happened?” Al Mualim asks, though his gaze goes to me like he expects I am the answer.

“I realized I am not without fault,” Altaïr whispers back. The guards holding him share an uneasy look. They had expected a violent Altaïr. A self-righteous brat that would struggle to escape what was coming to him. Not the man bowing respectfully in front of The Master and waiting to receive his punishment.

“Do you remember, Altaïr, what it is the Assassins fight for?” Al Mualim asks, contemplation in his gaze as he waves the guards away. They pull away slowly, testing to see if we’ll bolt the second they let go of us.

“Peace in all things,” Altaïr says, head still respectfully lowered. Al Mualim continues to gaze at him for a moment longer before he turns his mismatched eyes my way. I fight back the shiver as much as I can and advert my gaze.

“Yes,” Al Mualim mutters, a little lost in thought before he turns back to the crowd that waits to see if they will loses another member of their Brotherhood. “Maybe there is hope for you yet,” he says before stepping back. He draws away from us, dismissing us, and Altaïr doesn’t wait too long to slink away. “Report to me tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master.”

We waste no time disappearing back into the crowd. It a tricky thing, though. What with everyone trying to maintain a fair amount of distance from us and staring after us as we go. Altaïr doesn’t let it bother him, though. He simply walks through crowd and exits the gates once we reach it.

We don’t talk as we make our way down the hill. We just walk, ignoring the bodies littering the floor as we make our way back to Ken. It’s not safe here. Well, it’s more dangerous than normal so I don’t fight Altaïr as he motions me to climb the ladder first once we reach it.

As soon as I step onto the roof, Kenny’s blond mop of hair plops out from in between the curtains.

“You stupid bitch.”

“Ken—”

“Don’t _‘Ken’_ me,” he shouts as he scrambles out of the roof garden and pulls me into his arms. “You have no idea how worried I was. I swear, if you had died I would have brought you back to life just to kill you myself.”

“That would have defeated the purpose of teaching me a lesson,” I mumble against his chest and yelp as his hand connects with my head.

“Just wait until I tell your mom,” he says and I pale as I push my way out of his arms. “You’ll definitely learn a lesson then.”

“Dear god no,” I plead. “Besides, I had to,” I say, turning serious as I look behind me to find Altaïr staring silently towards the gates. “I had to find out what went wrong and…it’s not pretty, Ken.”

“What happen?”

“Not here,” I whisper and motion towards the swirl. “There’s a lot to discuss and I don’t feel like repeating myself if I don’t have to.”

“Home?”

“Home,” I agree before given Altaïr a long look. He’s still facing away from us, expression blank but I offer for him to come along anyways. A few hours away from this mess might be good for him. “You coming?”

He nods and follows after us without a word. He stays quiet even after we reached the other side. Not speaking even when we’re all gathered around the kitchen table and Mother’s placed a heavily loaded plate of food in front of him.

Her mother hen instincts are at an all-time high. I can tell from the way she stares worriedly at Altaïr. Assassin or not, she can tell he’s deeply upset. She’s a mother of two children—three if you count Ken—after all. She’s picked up the skill of knowing when something’s bothering you with just one look.

That and the fact that she knows he’s only just come back from a grueling eleven day mission. The food in front of him is all high in calories and sugar. Food that will give him energy and help him regain any lost weight quickly.

Altaïr does nothing more than pick at it though, increasing Mother’s worry by the bucket load.

“Tell us about it, son,” Father urges when Mother throws a worried look his way. “What happened?” Father’s voice is soft, smoothening. All deep tones and calming as he urges Altaïr to dig himself out of whatever funk he’s in.

“Altaïr?” Mother calls when he still doesn’t reply before sighing and standing. She walks out of the kitchen, then. Heels clicking softly against the wood as she makes her way down the hall. The sound of running water is easily heard in the quiet house. When she returns, there’s a towel in her hand that she offers to Altaïr. “How about a quick bath to help you unwind?”

Altaïr looks at her then, eyes still blank, but nods his head. He stands and follows after her without any more promoting. Calm, classical music begins to play not long after they disappear. The sound of the faucet shutting off and bathroom door closing—muffling the music—are the last thing we hear before Mother steps back into the room.

“How old is he?” she asks as she reclaims her sit on Father’s right.

“Late twenties,” I answer, slightly confused as to why that would be brought up at all.

“So he is around Ken and Alexis’ age,” Mother states, eyes going distant as she runs one finger around the rim of her mug of tea. She brings it to her lips every once in a while. We all sit around the table quietly as we wait for Altaïr to finish bathing.

Though Alexis wastes no time in attacking the abandoned plate of food.

“Does he suffer from PTSD?” Mother asks suddenly and I stare at her wide-eyed before shrugging.

“No? At least I don’t think so,” I say as I bring my own mug of hot chocolate up to my lips. Taking a careful sip, I think over what she just said. “He never had any type of episodes when I played the game.”

“But that isn’t a reliable source,” Mother says, finger once again running along the rim of her mug. “He kills for a living. He’s been trained to be a coldblooded murderer from a young age. It’d be impossible for him not to suffer some type of psychological breakdown every once in a while.”

“Why are you saying this?” I asks, gazed still locked onto Mother’s fingers even as she lets out a sigh.

“I’m telling you this so that you can be careful,” she says, fingers going down to tap against the wooden table. “He’s unstable _now_. He’s not in his right frame of mind. His gaze is bank, distant. He's reliving the memories. Thankfully, though, he’s miles away from an actual mental breakdown.”

“Mom,” I whisper, voice low and I don’t know if my next words are to convince her or myself. “He may be dangerous but I trust him. He won’t hurt me.”

“You may trust him and he may trust you but I’ve seen a number of patients breakdown and do things they later regret in a moment of insanity,” Mother warns but I scoff and wave away her worry. “He’s an Assassin first and foremost.”

“Oh, please, Mom. You're worrying about nothing.”

“There has to be some procedure,” she mumbles, distant look back on her face, fingers once again going to the mug’s rim. “They have to have some way to bring themselves back into reality. Someway to ground themselves so that they don’t snap.”

“What are you saying?” I ask, nervous as I continue to watch her. As the distant look continues I begin to fidget with my own mug. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing,” she says a little too quickly before a long sigh escapes her. Her eyes lose their distant look as she turns to gaze at Father with a pleading look. He meets her eyes for a few seconds but that’s all it takes. A thousand words filter between them and those few seconds are enough for him to understand what she’s asking for.

“I suggest you run a full physical on him before you medicate him,” Father says, all nonchalant as if they’re not talking about doping up Altaïr.

“Mom!”

“He’s dangerous, Jen,” Mother says, hand coming down to slam on the table as she stands. “and I will not have a man who’s capable of killing us all and on the verge of a mental breakdown in my home without taking the proper precautions,” she says, green eyes burning into me for a few seconds before they soften. “Altaïr is more than welcome in our home.

“I will never turn someone in need away,” she says, hand coming up to ruffle her long blonde locks. “But I will also not let myself be caught off guard. As long as he poses no threat, there will be no need for me to medicate him. So I suggest you find out how they keep Assassins from suffering mental breakdowns and quickly.”

All goes quiet again after Mother’s outburst. It wasn’t overly loud and probably couldn’t have traveled farther than the living room but the weight of concern behind it is the same. I nod my head in understanding then.

“I’ll take care of it,” I say and while it isn’t much of a comfort, Mother’s fingers cease to fidget nervously with her cup. “But, on another topic, you’re right. The videogame isn’t a reliable source. At least not as much as I thought it had been.”

“What happened?” Ken asks as he pushes his phone to the side and zeros back into the conversation. Even Alexis pushes the plate of food away from him. He gives me his undivided attention as we finally address the reason we’re all sitting at the table in the middle of the night.

“There’s been stubble differences between the game and his world,” I say, hand running nervously through my hair. “I hadn’t thought much of it at first. I understood why some things would have been removed due to budget issues. Things like the stables and children and even extra rooms and doors that really wouldn’t have been worthwhile to add but…”

“But?” Alexis prompts and I heave a shaky breath before shrugging.

“The death of the Hostage in front of the Fortress was different than in the video game,” I say, attempting to be cool and collected. It wouldn’t do now to let them see me get chocked up over a man I hardly knew. “In the game he was stabbed through the heart yet Robert had them slit his throat open in his universe.”

“Interesting,” Father mutters, one hand coming up to run at his face. “Anything else?”

“Robert wasn’t on his horse and Altaïr wasn’t demoted,” I tell them. “Though the last thing is more to do with the fact that things didn’t actually go as planned in the Temple. Altaïr says he didn’t kill the little old man and no one said whether or not he’d attacked Robert first. With there being no real reason to demote him other than Malik’s words Al Mualim couldn’t," I explain, calmly and a bit detached. “Especially, since Altaïr challenged him in front of the whole village for taking Malik’s words at face value when the man was obviously exhausted and delirious from blood loss.”

“He did?” Alexis asks, wonder in his voice and I can do nothing more than nod. “He has guts, I’ll give him that. Going up against the wizard when he was already facing demotion.”

“Things is, he didn’t know he was going to be demoted,” I say with another shrug. “Either way, it doesn’t matter if he was demoted or not. Al Mualim will probably still send him after the Templars. He’s the only one skilled enough to pull it off and Al Mualim knows that. This just mean we won’t be able to try out our theory of how Al Mualim messes with his head and takes away his abilities.”

“Ever think that maybe he just takes away the weapons and not the ability,” Alexis asks and I give him a look that states he’s obviously a little dense.

"Maybe, but if that was the case then what’s stopping him from simply swiping someone’s blade,” I ask and Alexis nods since he doesn’t quite know what to say. “Well, maybe his pride. Still there’s no reason to look into it now, anyways.”

“So what do we do?” Ken asks, fingers playing with the tablet in his hands. It had been Ken’s idea to document all we knew about what would happen. He’d loaded all the information onto different tablets and handed one off to each person. With all the information in their hands, there had been no need to sit around asking questions.

It gave us the chance to get everything that we needed done.

Mother, going full doctor mode, had stocked up on medical supplies and foods free of preservatives. There’s no telling how Altaïr would react to foods loaded with hormones and preservatives. Well, there is and none of us are looking forward to his body rejecting the food via vomit.

Father had gotten his equipment and thrown together a little lab in the attic. While he’s not quite as interested in Altaïr as Mother and I are, the mystery of the swirl hadn’t failed to convince him to help us. Like I said before, Father can give can give Ken a run for his money, and there’s nothing Father loves more—family excluded—than science.

Alexis had simply shrug, apology on his lips as he told us he wouldn’t be able to be that much help. With his final year in college turning out to be a rough and work filled one, he’d regretfully told us he wouldn’t be around much. Not that he wouldn’t help when we needed it.

So with everyone in agreement that going to the government would not be the best choice because it’d probably lead to us being uprooted, we’d taken the problem into our own hands. Lord only knows what the government would have done to Altaïr and his world.

I mean, they’re not outright evil, conniving bastards but The United States of America is nothing if not a oil _and_ power hungry country and, on the other side of that swirl, lies an underdeveloped world ripe for the taking.

"We steal the apple."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone gives me any grief, Malory is a unisex name!
> 
> _I swear it is!_


	13. Ch 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Man, I'm on an updating roll!!!_
> 
> Alright so I just learned something interesting...apparently the whole _Solomon's Temple_ thing happened in July **SO** let's just pretend that was Altaïr's answer when Jen asked, okay?
> 
> Thank you!

“What?”

It’s the general consensus of the room as four pairs of wide eyes turn my way. I shrug under their looks, all incredulous and questioning my sanity. If not questioning my intelligence, that is.

“We steal the apple,” I say again with another shrug but chose to elaborate this time. “We grab that cursed artifact, smash it into a thousand pieces, launch it into the god damn ocean, or blow it the fuck up, then we come home, close the swirl, and let bygones be bygones.”

“How…How does that help anyone?” Alexis asks, a confused look on his face though his eyes start narrowing not too long after. It’s then that I realize I hadn’t been successful in keeping the defeat from my voice. “What happened, Jen?”  

“She stopped it!” I yell, hands coming down to slam on the table. “She fucking stopped it! He wasn’t killing anyone. He wasn’t being an arrogant little prick—at least I don’t think so. They could have come home but she stopped it.”

“Who’s ' _she’,_ ” Father asks, the calm in his voice helping to soothe me.

“I don’t know,” I mumble, hands coming up to rub at my face. “Altaïr didn’t manage to get her name. He just said it was the same one that talked to him last time but I’d place my money on Minerva.”

“Why Minerva?” Mother asks, voice just as calm as Father’s and I know this is a trick to get me to wind down. While I hadn’t come in as silent as Altaïr, brooding and refusing to meet anyone’s gaze, they know me well enough to recognize that I’m not one hundred percent either.

“Minerva liked to talk to the future,” I whisper, blinking tears from my eyes as I try to put what happened today to the back of my mind. “She knew they were goners. That they wouldn’t be able to stop the Solar Flares so she began to hope that, by looking to the future, she could help the humans when the Solar Flares would strike again. So, if someone’s leaving recorded messages in the future then it has to be her.”

It’s one thing to watch fictional characters die on your Television. It’s another thing completely to actually see the people around you be cut down. To see people you recognized be slaughtered in front of your eyes. To hear women and children scream in panic as they run for their lives. The death, the destruction, seeing first had and being unable to stop it.

_To see all that blood._

This isn’t a game anymore.

“Do you have a picture of who you think she might be?” Altaïr asks, catching the last of our conversation as he walks into the dining room. Fresh from a bath, he's dressed only in a pair of navy blue sweats and a white tee. He walks calmly to his seat, bare feet padding lightly on the floor. It’s almost as if all his troubles have been washed away with the bath.

“Here,” Ken says a he pass the tablet over to Altaïr once he takes his seat. He flickers through a couple of pictures as he names them out. “That’s Juno, this one is Jupiter, and _that_ one is Minerva. Do any of them look familiar?”

“He was there,” he says as he flicks back to the image of Jupiter. “Before I ended up here. He was standing in the black room, at the very back. He seemed unhappy, kept telling her this it was not a good idea, but _she_ ,” he says as he swipes back to the picture of Minerva, “ignored him and kept showing me things.”

“Okay, well at least now we have conformation that it _is_ those three behind it,” Alexis says as he passes the plate of food back to Altaïr. There’s still a fair amount of food on it. Most of what he’d eaten had been food that would be unpleasant once it’d gone cold. “But we still don’t know what they want.”

“I thought they wanted me to change things,” I mumble as I watch Altaïr carefully pick up a piece of bread—homemade—and dunk it into a bowl full of jam—also homemade. I have a feeling someone is about to be spoiled rotten. “But now I’m not so sure. Especially if they stopped us from saving Kadar.”

“Maybe they did it because that’s not what they wanted you to change,” Mother offers, a small smile on her face as she watches Altaïr take a cautious bite of the bread. And it must be delicious—or he’s just really hungry—because he practically inhales the rest of the bread and jam after that. “Maybe you’re just not focusing on the big picture.”

“Their greatest concern is saving the world,” Father says with a nod. He holds a hand out for the tablet and it’s passed to him with no prompting. “They won’t spare much thought for the life of another unless it changes things too drastically. Maybe, if they hadn’t intervene, Al Mualim would not have sent him to assassinate the Templars.”

“Unlikely,” Ken says, a small frown on his face. “Altaïr’s skills are boasted as Legendary. He’s the youngest Assassin to reach Master rank. Born and bred killer, taught by the Grand Master himself. There’s no possibilities of anyone but him accomplishing those missions. These particular Templars were just too skilled and well-guarded and Al Mualim knew that.”

“So what _did_ she see?” I ask the question on everyone’s mind but not even big brained Ken has an answer for that one.

“I’m more curious as to how she managed to get to them,” Father says after a beat of silence. He fiddle with the tablet as he speaks again, “Prerecorded messages are one thing. How did she manage to gain control of them?”

“She had something golden,” Altaïr says in between bites of food. He’s almost polished off the whole plate, though he pauses from stuffing his face to finally tell us what happened at Solomon’s Temple. “I could not see it clearly but it casted a golden glow around the room. She then called de Sable to her side as well as Kadar’s and they did so instantly. She ordered de Sable to kill him but I jumped in before he could.”

“And Malik?” I asks when Altaïr pauses to take a sip of water. “What did she do to Malik?”

“He could not move,” he says. “None of them could unless she commanded it.”

“But you could?”

“At first,” Altaïr says, gaze shifting over to catch Father’s. Whether the doubt in Father’s voice had been intentional or not, Altaïr catches it. He keeps his eyes locks with Father, posture shifting. His back goes straight, chin high, as he prepares to defend himself. “But after I stopped de Sable from _slaughtering_ Kadar right then and there I no longer found myself able to move.”

“Easy, son,” Father says as he sees Altaïr’s change in demeanor. “I meant nothing by it. Simply trying to get the facts straight,” he placates. Altaïr, though, doesn’t return to his food. He continues to hold his gaze for a moment longer before relaxing the tiniest bit. “Go on.”

“Robert de Sable threw me from the room, then,” he says, once again going back to picking at the food. “I could do nothing. The wall collapse and I could not reach them.”

“So she forces everything to be the same even after warning you of Kadar’s death and Malik’s injury,” Ken deducts, frown in place as he struggles to connect the dots. “Why? What would have happened if she didn’t? How drastically could things change if Kadar still lived and Malik kept his arm?”

Altaïr says nothing. He can’t say anything. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen in a few months’ time so he can’t offer any possibilities. He just sits there, back to munching at his food because he knows better than to ask about the things to come.

“If Malik kept his arm, wouldn’t that mean he wouldn’t become a Rafiq?” Alexis asks, eyebrows drawn together as he thinks. “And if he isn’t a Rafiq wouldn’t that mean that Altaïr wouldn’t have anyone to help him when it came time to save Masyaf? Or to lead it for that matter.”

“Then why warn him in the first place?” I ask, confused. If that had been the case then why would Minerva even tell Altaïr all his faults just to force the events to happen. “If Malik not losing his arm was going to cause this much trouble, then why didn’t she just _not_ say anything.”

“She did say it was a mistake,” Altaïr says, head cocked to the side. “She say that the swirl had opened too soon.”

“Calculations were her greatest skills,” Ken says, exasperated.

“But they weren’t Jupiter’s,” I say, realization dawning on me as I turn to Altaïr. “You said he was there and that he looked upset, right?” I ask and, at Altaïr’s nod, I cheer. “Okay. Okay. That has to be it. If the swirl opened too soon because Jupiter mess it up then, realizing it was too late to fix things, they must have just thought to go with it. Not realizing that, by doing so, things would be too drastically changed.”

“Likely, but whether the swirl opened early or not we still don’t know what they want,” Father reminds me, cutting my moment of eureka short.

“You’re guess is as good as mine,” I mumble as I slump back into my seat. Altaïr pushes his plate of food towards me as I do. It’s as I look down at the near empty plate that I realize just how drained I am. Night owl or not, it’s been an extremely long day. “Look, it’s still too early for us to know without more direction from them.”

“At this point, the best course of action would be to wait,” Ken agrees as he rubs tiredly at his eyes. “We won’t be sure what they want until they contact us again.”

“So we wait?” Alexis asks and, when he gets a nod from everyone in the room, he stands. “Great, I got an essay waiting for me and it’s not going to write itself.”

He leaves the room with those words. Mother and Father follow after him without a word, though they do bid us goodnight before they exit the room. Once alone, Ken and I share a long glance.

“You sleeping over, Ken?” I ask when he yawns but he just shakes his head. I find myself yawing not too long after. They’re infectious little things, after all, and even manage to catch Altaïr. Though that could be more because he’s had a rough few days and is extremely tired than just from seeing someone yawn. 

“I’m picking Anissa up from school tomorrow,” he says by way of explanation as he stands. “Still, before I leave, I want to get some more readings on the swirl.”

“Getting close to an answer?” I asks, standing as well. Any lingering tension dissolves as we leave all the frustration and unanswered questions over Minerva’s actions at the table. We know better than to worry about it now, in the dead of the night, when we could be relaxing and taking a much needed break.

“Nope,” Ken says with a shrug, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Altaïr follows after us as we exit the dining room. “I honestly don’t think we’ll ever figure out how it happened,” he says, stopping at the foot of the stairs. A thoughtful looks comes over his face. “I may be able to figure something out but whatever I come up with will probably be the equivalent of slapping a Band-Aid on it and hoping for the best.”

“I thought it was a _‘fabric’_ ,” I mutter, stopping next him and peering curiously up at him. “Wouldn’t that mean we have to stitch it up instead of hoping for it to fix itself?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to get the required _‘string’_ to stitch it together,” Kenny says, exasperation seeping into his voice before he shakes his head. “Besides, if Minerva wants it open, it’s going to stay open.”

“You think she has control over it?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Though I’m leaning towards the latter,” he says, shrugging again before starting up the stairs. He pauses half way up to look back at me, eyes strangely filled with conviction. “She says it opened too early but has not made any attempt to close it. She’s opening them, sure, but maybe closing them is out of her control.”

“What does this mean for us?” I ask, still at the foot of the stairs and watch as he continues to make his way up. I feel no need to follow after him. I’ve had enough of Dimensional Travel for one day and am more content to stay at home.

My PlayStation is calling my name.

“I have no idea.”

Ken is out of sight with those last words. He turns the corner and makes his way down the hall, leaving us with that to think over. I don’t bother to wait for him to finish up his research. Ken’s family, he can show himself out and is even welcomed to stay if he wants. 

“Who’s Anissa?” Altaïr asks, reminding me that he’s still around. I have half a mind to ask him if he’s going home soon—only because it’s pretty late—but the look in his eyes stop me. He looks honesty curious, interested, but there’s a slightly haunted look to them.

Mother’s words come back to me then.

_‘He’s unstable….’_

I would be too. If I had to see the members of my village cut down, I’d probably be half way to batshit insane. Especially, since it’s actually a very tight-knit community—petty rivalries aside. I can’t begin to image what he’s feeling in that moment.

I can’t imagine what any of them are.

_Especially, Odell._

Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t go home, yet. 

“Anissa is Ken’s sister,” I tell him as I nod towards my room. He follows after me obediently as I offer him the distraction he desperately needs. “She’s a few years younger than us. Just turned fifteen, I think. Ken adores her but he hardly gets to see her.”

“Why?” he asks as we reach my room. Once inside I dive for my bed. Sprawling on it face down while Altaïr takes the chair from my desk. I palm blinding for the PlayStation control and grin against the covers when my hand wraps around the cold, hard plastic.

“Ken’s parents are...Well, let’s just say they’re not exactly nice,” I tell him as I turn on the PlayStation and then fumble around for the Television Remote. “They live right next door, actually, yet Ken hasn’t seen her in months. It’s a miracle he’s even going to see her tomorrow, though I’m pretty sure that’s just because she needs something.”

“She’s using him?” he asks, turning to the Television with a calculating look when it turns on. I don’t bother to check what game is in the PlayStation. I just hit play and wait for it to load. The Ubisoft Logo chime is unmistakable and I only have a few second to wonder which game is in the PlayStation before the Assassin Insignia is on the screen.

“No,” I say, mentally shrugging at the thought that Altaïr will finally see exactly what I had been talking about on the first day he was here. I had just told him it’d been him on the cover, I never explained to him what exactly was going on, just told him he’d traveled hundreds of years into the future.

I never did tell him it wasn’t in his own Timeline.

“Anissa loves Kenny,” I reassure him as I start the games. When the animus screen loads, I deliberately choose to replay the first memory. “They’d be inseparable if their parents would actually them see each other but they disowned Kenny awhile back. They kicked him out of their house almost as soon as he turned eighteen and now only let them see each other when money’s involved. Ken’s rich.”

I throw in the last part with a shrug but I don’t know if he’s even paying attention to me anymore. His eyes are glued onto the television. On the little Altaïr figure, though blurry as the image goes in and out of focus, but it’s undeniably an Assassin.

“This is how I knew,” I tell him, my voice a whisper. Gold eyes shoot my way but there’s nothing dangerous in them, just confusion and curiosity. “If you want to know what would have happened if I hadn’t shown up, then play close attention. I’ll explain everything later.”

I work my way through the game with ease. Though, once again, I find myself wishing you could skip the tutorial. Altaïr just watches.

He remains quiet through the whole thing, eyes never leaving the screen even when it’s confirmed that the Assassin I’m controlling is him. Though, he does tense when Desmond is revealed. He already knows about him, after all.

Minerva had shown him Desmond being tortured. I’m pretty sure the tortured device had been the Animus and I can’t fault her for describing it as such. That thing had done horrible things to Desmond’s sanity.

_Fucking Bleeding Effect._

After the rolling logs and Templars turned pancakes and Altaïr’s demotion, I stop the game. I pause before it’s revealed that he didn’t actually die because there’s too much information in that scene that I’m not sure if he should hear or not.

“He was going to kill me.”

His voice is soft, a whisper, calm, cool and collected but the dawning horror on his face says otherwise about what he’s truly feeling.

“Not really,” I tell him as I place the controller on the bed and twine my hands together. “It was a mind trick. You would have lived but would have ended up demoted. It was supposed to be some metaphor for being reborn and, hopefully, retaught so you wouldn’t be such an arrogant dick anymore.”

“A traitor’s death,” he mumbles head bowing in attempt to hide his face but he’s not wearing his hood. “I would have deserved it,” he whispers and I don’t bother to deny it. It’s true. Pre-demotion Altaïr had betrayed everything, his Tenets and his brotherhood, but not this Altaïr.

No.

This one is different. Forced to face the consequences of his actions before he’d committed them. Shocked to hell and back by the news of Kadar’s death, Malik’s life changing injury, and the Brotherhood’s coming fall. Then tossed into my world to get belittled and treated more like an harmless brat than the Great Master Assassin feared and respected by just about everyone he comes into contact with.

We haven’t treated him like an Assassin.

We haven’t showed him any fear or bowed to any of his threats. Ken and I have treated him as one of us. As an annoying guy with a too big head in need of a serious kick in the arse. While Mother and Father have treated him like they do us. To them he’s just another young man. One with a highly dangerous occupation but a young man nonetheless. 

We’ve treated him more _human_ than anyone ever has and turned his life upside down with that alone. Then, you throw in the fact they we know _way_ more than we should and are hundreds of years into the future and his concept of the world has been utterly and completely shattered.

No, this isn’t the Altaïr on the screen.

He hasn’t been since he crashed into my world because we haven’t let him be like that.

“You don’t deserve that now, though,” I whisper as I pick up the controller and exit the memory block. I pick another memory to replay at random. I ignore the cut scene completely as I lock eyes with Altaïr. “You’re no longer the person you were before you came here. Who you are now did not deserve a Traitor’s death and Al Mualim saw that. It's why he let you go.”

He doesn’t reply to that and, with the serious conversation done, I pat the bed. My bed’s not huge, it’s just a full but we fit on it better than the one in his room. He sits down next to me, legs crossed, and I lay sprawled on my stomach as I turn back to my game.

Soon I’m absorbed into the game completely, dodging guards and killing targets. My tongue is caught between my teeth, the white PlayStation control is clenched between my hands, and my fingers tap rapidly on the buttons as my eyes bore into the TV.

There’s no pulling me away from the television now, not for at least a few hours and I feel a little guilty for Altaïr because I’m completely ignoring him but I can’t hold back anymore.  

Most of the previous days had been filled with preparation and work. Gathering preservative free foods had not been easy nor had constructing Father’s mini-lab in the attic. Top that with putting together a fully stocked hospital room and the construction of the roof garden along with attending our actual, paying jobs and this will be the first good night’s sleep we’ve all had since the start of this.

Not to mention that it’s been that long since I last picked up the controller.

I’ve been damn near _itching_ to get my hands on the control. Any control. It’s an addiction. An honest to God addiction and the amount of relief that filled as I allow myself to be drawn into the game almost makes me cry in relief. 

It doesn't matter to me that it's an older game either. 

I maneuver the white hooded character carefully as I jump from roof to roof but, true to my abilities—or lack of—I end up missing a beam. The screen takes on a red tint as the fall is a tad too high and it hurts Altaïr but I ignore it and turn to face the Altaïr  _in_ my room.  

There’s a grimace on his face as his eyes are trained on the screen. I can’t stop the blush that dusts my cheeks. It’s easy enough to see that I’ve injured his character and I gulp as my blush intensifies. I turn my attention back to my game before he can say anything, moving to scale the closest wall so I can continue jumping from roof to roof.  

Once again all my attention is absorbed. It’s not too long before I’m fighting off guards while trying to rescue a citizen. I try my best to take down the guards without a scratch but I can feel Altaïr’s eyes on me. They distract me enough for the guards to land a couple of blows. The embarrassment that rushes through me at that throws me off more. Soon more guards join the scene, so, before I know it, I’m staring at the Game Over screen of the animus.  

We sit in silence while the game reloads and all I can think is  _‘I killed Altaïr.’_  

A giggle bursts through my lips without my consent, startling me so much that I can’t stop more from rushing out. Apparently all it takes to kill the Master Assassin is a twenty one year old girl. It’s funny in ways I can’t understand. But a good laugh is what I desperately need at the moment.

It’s like those moments when you’re so high strung. So close to breaking that all you can do is either laugh hysterically or cry. In this moment, I choose to laugh because crying will do no good. It won’t make anything better.

_The sight of blood and gore and death will forever be etched into my mind._

But I do my best work through it now. To cope with it in a way that won’t leave me more broken than before. So I laugh and, in no time, I’m clutching my stomach and rolling on my bed. It’s slightly hysterical, slightly bitter, and all desperate but when I can finally breathe again my gaze locks on Altaïr to find him chuckling with me.  

There’s a small smile on his scarred lips and I smile too. There’s no words exchanged, there doesn’t need to be. We’ve worked through it as best as we can. The haunted look in his eyes is gone. Whatever lingering tension there was has disappeared. The horror of our day has been chased away by humor, if only momentarily, but it’s enough. So it’s with a lighter heart that I once again grab the control to keep playing.

I can still feel his eyes on me as I play, but they don’t distracted me anymore.

Though, when he pats my head, it makes me pause and takes me awhile to figure out why he’d did it. 

I stare at the television for a long while, confused as I watch my target walk away. The mission is complete, the required letter is in my hand, and the target’s none the wiser. Did he…did he just congratulate me for successfully pick-pocketing the target?

_He did!_

I can’t stop myself as I realize this.

I jump him, crashing into his side and sending us tumbling on the bed. I had only meant to hug him, of course, but it seems I’ve cut him off guard. It says something about his trust in me that he’s lowered it at all. So we land in a tangle of limbs across the bed.

My arms are around his neck, my thighs spread across his while his hands land on my waist. For a brief second I just want to lie there. To lay sprawled on top of him with my head pillowed against his chest, soaking up his warmth as the exhaustion threatens to catch up with me until I realize just exactly what is going on.

Blood rushes to my face, my cheeks going a bright red but, before I can scrabble off of him, his hands tighten on my waist. He holds me in place and I freeze, eyes locked with his. There’s a smirk his face and it makes my eyes narrow at the sight of it.

_It seems I’m not the only one that needs this._

That we both need conformation that the other’s is alive. Isn’t that always the case after a life-threatening situation? The need to _feel_ alive is supposedly the only thing on your mind so I let myself melt against. I may not feel that way but that’s because I didn’t fight. I didn’t kill anyone, just ran for my life but he…he killed quite a bit of guards and almost died himself.

So I'll give him this,

His thumb of his left hand slowly starts to rub circles on the expose skin of my waist as we lay there. The game is forgotten, the soundtrack providing a nice calming atmosphere. I don’t know how long we lay there, but the world doesn’t take long to fade out.

It soon turns black, dark. My room disappears as I continue to lay on Altaïr’s chest but soon he fades too. He disappears and my world is bathed in an orange glow. I’m no longer laying either. I’m standing, surrounded by inky darkness and millions of white dots.

Stars.

_The Nexus._

“Why?”

My voice is a whisper, nothing more than my lips forming the words.  

“It was a mistake,” she replies, appearing next to me in all her orange tinted glorying. I stare at her, gaze thoughtful and one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Jupiter miscalculated. The portal was supposed to open in the year 1247.”

“Why not close it then?” I ask, watching as she begins to stride forward. The blackness bleeds away, transforming, shifting until we’re standing in the middle of a white room. An extremely recognizable room at that and I approach the Animus carefully.

We’re in Abstergo.

“We can’t,” she says, joining me beside the Animus just as the door swing open.

We watch silently as guards drag a limp, unresponsive body towards the Animus, Lucy and Vidic trailing behind them. They shove Desmond onto it carelessly, grunting and cursing before turning and walking back out the door.

 _“This isn’t a good idea,”_ Lucy warns him but Vidic doesn’t listen. He just orders her to run the simulation.

“Why am I here,” I asks as the Animus screen comes up. Even unconscious Desmond gives a pitiful moan as he’s forced to live through the genetic memories. “What is this all about?”

“The Animus is not all that it seems,” she says as she begins to circle it. A calculating look is on her face, orange fingers gliding across the white metal as Desmond begins to thrash.

Vidic curses at his violent response while Lucy begs to end the simulation before it causes irreparable damage. But my attention isn’t on them. It’s on Minerva as she continues to watch the scene play out curiously.

Almost as if she, herself, can’t figure it out either. 

“Jen!”

The world bleeds out. The white room melts away for mine to come back and, before I can figure out what just happened, Ken yanks me off the bed. My knees buckle at the unexpected weight but Ken holds me up. His hands are wrapped around my arms, keeping me on my legs, while his eyes are wide, panicked.

He sounds nearly hysterical as he says, _“There’s two.”_


	14. Ch 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is with great honor and joy that I bring to you the next chapter. A chapter where some things are explained, more questions are raised, another visitor appears, and almost nothing gets done!
> 
> Yay!!!

The attic is quiet, dark save for the light of the swirl and machinery. The computers are on, broadcasting words and numbers and levels but I ignore it. I ignore everything as I creep carefully into the room. Ken waits outside, still slightly hysterical and absolutely refusing to step back into the attic until he’s sure he won’t be killed.

Killed by what?

I’m not sure. We hadn’t been able to get him to say anything coherent. The others wait with him, roused from sleep at the ass crack of dawn by his nearly hysterical shouts. Except Altaïr. He trails behind me, just as carefully and a lot more silent that I can ever hope to be. 

True to Ken’s words, there are two.

Two floating swirls twinkling innocently next to each other. They’re identical. Same size and shape expect the one on the left has a noticeably redder hues. It mixes with the blue of the first swirl, casting a purple glow across the room. Other than that the swirl does nothing as it floats there, though it’s not the swirl Ken’s afraid of.

But the figure standing next to it.

He stands tall, proud, ready to defend even though he’s in—extremely—unfamiliar territory and more than a little confused. Seeing him like this, young and healthy and not weighed down with grief and struggling to understand his purpose in life like I’d last seen him fills me with something so _light_.

It’s like a weight’s been lifted from my shoulders and the images of him as an old and weary man melts away as I stare at him.

_Assassin’s Creed: Revelations._

Seeing him like that, old and just completely lost had torn me apart from the inside out—never mind what seeing Altaïr peacefully _die_ in his old age had done to me. But seeing them both now, alive, healthy, and young chases the lingering sadness away because, before me, stands Ezio.

_Ezio Auditore da Firenze._

“I guess that answers that,” I tell Altaïr as he comes to stand next to me at the top of the stairs. I don’t have to look back to know he’s ready for any attack to come. I know that he stands ready, legs spread and knees bent as he looks Ezio over. “Look, it’s late. I’m tired, we’ve being through a lot of shit today, so just tell me. Do you know why Minerva keeps sending you guys our way?”

“No?”

“Damn,” I curse, turning back to Altaïr with a pout on my lips. I don’t bother to balk or stare at Ezio. Dealing with Altaïr has already taught me that it’s better to treat them like normal human beings than lethal Assassins. “I was so close to getting an answer. Just a few more minutes and I would have had everything I needed to know. Fucking hell!”

“Jen!”

Mother’s voice bounces off the wall, over shadowing Father’s warning call, as she climbs the stairs, angrily tucking her robe around. I have only seconds to duck behind Altaïr as Mother’s hand strikes out. I’m just lucky enough to dodge out from under the hand reaching for my ear but nothing stops the scolding.

“How many times must I warn you about that foul language of yours, young lady?” Mother asks, hands on her hips as she towers over us even though she’s, honestly, not that tall. She only reaches Altaïr’s chest but even he shrinks away from her anger. “One more foul word while you’re under this roof and I _will_ wash your mouth out with soap, is that understood.”

“Mom,” I try weakly but the fire in her gaze has me ducking fully behind Altaïr and swearing with everything I have that will obey.

“Good,” she says, fixing the robe more securely around herself. “Now, what were you so close to finding out?” she asks just as Father races up the stairs himself, a little panicked, and pulls her behind him to shield her from danger. “Oh, would you stop it. If _he_ ,” she says, exasperated as she point Ezio’s way, “didn’t kill Ken—because we all know anyone from _their_ timeline is fully capable of killing us all in our sleep let alone taking out someone before they can alert others—then he’s not going to kill us, right?”

“No?” Ezio says as Mother turns her expectant gaze his way. The answer comes out more like a question but it seems to satisfy her. She’s the only one, though. If that was supposed to make anyone feel better it failed.

Miserably.

“Great,” Mother chirps, tucking stray strands of blond hair behind her ears as she moves out from behind Father. “Now, Jen, what were you close to getting an answer for?” Mother asks sweetly. I don’t know if she’s ignoring the elephant in the room because she’s more interested in what I have to say or because it’s definitely too early to deal with Minerva’s bullshit.

 _Too bad all of this_ is _Minerva’s bullshit._

“I think we should deal with him first,” I say as I point to the Assassin looking more than a little lost. He eyes roam around the room, trying to make sense of what’s happening. They never settle for long as he tries to take everything in.

“You guys take care of that,” Father says as he moves to his computers, dragging a slightly reluctant Kenny into the attic and towards the computers. “Ken and I will see about the swirls.”

“Oh sure, choose the less violent option,” Mother mumbles, arms crossing over her chest and a pout coming to her lips but Father just press a quick kiss to her cheek with a chuckle. “Don’t forget you have work at ten, Mister. I expect you washed, shaved, and dress by nine.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good, now you two,” she says, turning her attention to Altaïr and me. I’m still hiding behind him but I poke my head out from my cover so Mother knows I’m listening. “Look at those eye bags. You two look like you’re about to keel over. As soon as this is finish you two will be off to bed. No buts!”

“But mom,” I complain anyways, making my eyes large and wide and just the tad bit watery. I do it just for the sake of whining and snicker when she throws a murderous glare my way. “Okay, okay. We’ll go to bed, promise.”

Altaïr nods he’s compliance

“A…another one?” Father says, then, gathering our attention. His eyebrows are drawn together as he stares hard at the swirls, almost as if he’s waiting from them to spill all their secrets. “One is amazing, _exciting_ , but two…two is suspicious, _ominous_ ,” he mutters as he inspects the second swirl.

Ezio’s attention also turns to the swirl, hand reaching out for the blue one, but Ken stops him. His sudden, unexpected, hysterical and fearful reaction gone now that the shock has worn off. Seriously, an Assassin popping out from out of nowhere would scare anyone shitless. Especially if it’s the in the middle of the night and you’re all alone.

Hell, even _I_ ran when Altaïr first appeared.

But I had been okay afterwards. Even made him clean up his mess. So now that the shock has worn off, nothing stops Ken from latching onto Ezio’s arm and stopping the idiot can get himself pulled into Altaïr’s world.

“Don’t,” he cries as he pulls Ezio away. He could stop Ken, we all know he could have but Ezio let’s himself be led away from the swirl and towards us. “Here, they’ll explain what’s going on. _Then_ you can go gallivanting across time and space.”

Ezio shoots him a weird look at that, making me wonder why he, fresh from the swirl, can understand us when Altaïr hadn’t been able too. Well, at least he couldn’t understand Ken until Ken had jumped through the swirl too.

“I’m Jennifer,” I tell him, pushing that particular mystery aside since I already have too many on my plate to take that one on as well. “This is Altaïr. Yes, _The_ Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Eagle of Masyaf, Son of None, The Grand Master but that’s a mouthful so you can just call him Altaïr. We all do,” I tell him, completely done with subtly. If Minerva wanted subtly she wouldn’t have thrown him, head first, into my world. “This is my mother Anna, that’s my father Alexander, and the blonde over there is Kenny.

“Now, you’ve jumped roughly six hundred years into the future, with the help of that,” I tell him as point to the red swirl. “Don’t ask us why it’s there or how it happen, ‘cause we still haven’t figured it out ourselves. Well, we haven’t figured out the technicalities of it but it was put there but a woman call Minerva. You probably saw her before you got here.

“That aside, we know who you are, Ezio Auditore da Firenze. We know _what_ you are, Mister Assassin and we’re here to help,” I tell him, taking his arm and leading him back to the swirl. He comes willingly and I bet that’s more because he’s confused beyond belief than any actual trust on his part. “Now, to get home, you just jump through and hope you don’t break your neck. Okay? Okay. Bye, have a good day.”

“Jen!”

I flinch as everyone but Altaïr shouts my name.

“Fine, fine,” I grumble as I let go Ezio’s arm and back away from the swirl. I’ve already learned my lesson about standing closer than strictly necessary when it comes to them. Last thing I need is to take a trip to renaissance Italy….

Wait.

That doesn’t sound too bad actually.

“No Jen,” Ken says, hand landing on my shoulder when he sees me inching towards the red swirl. Seems he’s on swirl duty, then. Well, Idiot duty would be a better word for it. Once he’s sure I won’t throw myself head first into trouble he turns back to Father. “Right as the swirl open there was a bright light—there! You see that? I’m not sure what kind of energy that was but the system seems to have picked it up.”

“Ezio Auditore, eh?” Mother says as she turns her gaze to me. “Is this the one you’re constantly raving about and calling a—what was it, dear?” she asks turning to Father causing cold dread to pool in my stomach. Father turns at her words, giving Ezio a stare of his own.

“A slut, honey, I believe our darling Jennifer called this fine man a _slut_ ,” he hisses out and if I could die of embarrassment I’d be six fit under by now. But I’m not that lucky so, as I feel a stare burning a hole in my back, I take cover behind Altaïr.

And if Father and Mother hadn’t been so preoccupied—one with staring at Ezio and the other trying to figure out the swirl—I’m sure they would have commented on the away Altaïr tenses and shifts his legs apart. He’s getting into his fighting stance so I bury myself into his back to keep him from doing anything stupid.

I _do not_ need two Assassins decking it out in my attic.

“Um, Mr. Hernandez,” Kenney calls, politely—even though he’s been told time and time again to quit it—thankfully drawing Father’s gaze from Ezio. “You should take a look at this,” he mutters. I peek out from behind Altaïr to watch Ken hand him a data pad. “They’re identical, ripped at the same force and speed,” Kenny says as he points to something on the pad while Mother continues to stare at Ezio. “I believe The Light and it’s Energy might have been present the first time as while.”

Ezio who looks more than a little confuse as he stares at all of us. 

“So what is it’s purpose?” Father asks as he looks at the data pad. “It didn’t behave erratically, nor did it shoot out in all directions. The energy had an intended target, so what was it and what did it do?”

 “Jennifer, honey,” Mother calls, bringing my attention back to her. “Why don’t you and Altaïr take Mr. Auditore downstairs so your father and Kenny can work in peace?” Mother suggests, sweet smile in place, but the look in her eyes has me nodding instantly. “Well then, breakfast will be in one hour and I expect _everyone_ there,” she says with a pointed look to the two by the swirls before turning sharply and exiting the attic. “We’ll discuss things then.”

“Right, um, Ezio?” I call, having to fight to keep myself from shrinking back behind Altaïr as Ezio turns to me with a glare. It’s the wrong thing to do apparently. The quiet _snick_ of a hidden blade sounds around the room like a gun shot. “Altaïr!” I yelp, grabbing a hold of his hand. “Put that away before Mother sees it!”

The blade is sheathed in a second. The threat of Mother is just too much. Altaïr hasn’t been around her that much but he’s seen enough to know that she means business.

“Come with me and I will explain—in detail—what is going on,” I promise Ezio as I motion to the door.

His only answer is a nod and he follows after us as we exit the room.

We make it all the way to the living room without an accident but the tension is still high. Especially, since Altaïr won’t settle down. His gazed is glued onto Ezio almost as if he’s challenging him to make the first move.

Unfortunately, Ezio looks dangerously close to doing just that.

Shit.

“Sit, please,” I say, ushering Altaïr onto Mother’s crème colored loveseat before taking a seat next to him. Ezio moves to the recliner without taking his gaze off of Altaïr, causing me to I curse internally. How am I going to explain this if Ezio won’t lower his guard?

He’s waiting for an attack that won’t come. An attack from Altaïr specifically. With another internal curse—I’m not about to take Mother up on her promise—I realize that I’m going to need Altaïr to leave if I want Ezio to relax.

If he doesn’t there isn’t a chance that he’ll believe me when I tell him what’s going on.

“Hey, Altaïr, um, why don’t you give mom a hand?” I ask innocently, trying not to fidget when he gives me that look that questions my intelligence. “He won’t listen with you here. You can just stand in the dining room if you want,” I say under my breath, words almost inaudible. He hears them though and exits the room with a nod. “Um, I’m sorry about Altaïr, he’s just a bit overprotective.”

“And with a good reason, I would be as protective as him with a young lady such as yourself,” he says, voice just so sweet, smooth that it makes me want to barf. Really? I don’t know whether to be insulted or impressed. He’s been here for less than an hour and he’s already hitting on someone. “So tell me, beautiful, where am I?”

Well, at least this one speaks English...I think. For all I know we could all be speaking in Italian.

Quiet curses and silent muttering waft in from the next room—the dining room. I snicker quietly as I hear Mother’s voice. Even though I can’t hear the words the tone obviously says that someone—Altaïr—is being scolded.

I wonder if she’s brave enough to wash out _his_ mouth....

_Yeah, she is._

“What’s that last thing you remember before you ended up here?” I ask, turning my attention back to the situation at hand. I need to find out where the swirl opened up and if it’ll be a problem. Not that we’ll be able to close it but I rather know if we’ll need to be on our guard than wait for an attack to happen.

“Running across the rooftops of _Monteriggioni_ ,” he says, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. Maybe even a tad bit in frustration but his voice is calm when he asks, “Why?”

I bite my lips as I think of a way to tell him that he’s in the United States of America. I’m not sure if American has even been founded in his time yet. Or, if it has, how wide spread the news of the New World is.

Maybe, up front, like I did with Altaïr, would be best.

“As I already told you, you’ve travel to the future. The swirl you’ve come through has spit you out six hundred years in the future. Take a look around you, Ezio, does any of this look strange?” I ask, motioning to the room around me.

For the first time since we walked into the room Ezio lets his eyes roam around the room. I watch the way they linger on the turned off television. But he doesn’t know it’s a television—a fifty-two inch plasma—because he doesn’t know what a television is. All he sees is a black box hanging on the wall.

“Watch,” I whisper, grabbing the control on the coffee table. Once his eyes turn to me I point the control to the plasma, powering it on. The screen lights up instantly. A familiar—to me—yellow sponge comes on the screen screaming for his lost snail.

SpongeBob?

“How did this happen? How is this even possible?”

“Minerva,” I whisper, shutting off the plasma as Ezio jumps from his seat. If he knows her or not, I’m not sure, but he still mouths the name as he stares around the room. “I’m not sure how or why she did it but she sent you here for a reason. Did she tell you what needs to be done?”

“No,” he says, eyes still roaming the room curiously.

“What did she say?”

“She said you are in need of my help,” he says, brown eyes locking with mine. There’s something about them that gives me chills. They’re blank, emotionless, almost as if someone else speaking and he’s just the puppet as he says, “That time is running out. She can’t see you or the others. You evade her calculations. Your choices and decisions cannot be seen so I have been sent as a failsafe.”

“The failsafe for what?”

“I do not know.”

No more is said on the subject. Ezio snaps back to himself with those words, looking a little dazed. Once back to normal, though, he returns to inspecting the room. It’s then that I find out just exactly why Altaïr hasn’t asked anything about our Technological Advances. As I follow Ezio around the house, answering question after question, I realize that the reason Altaïr hadn’t shown any interest is because he _didn’t care._

He’s from the Medieval Era. Science just didn’t fly during that time. It was love your God and accept him as the answer for everything or be killed. While I understand that Assassin’s teachings were not as severe they still had their God.

Still believed in their afterlife.

So since Altaïr comes from a time were science was shunned and asking question could very well get you killed, he remains uninterested. Asks absolutely no questions about computers or Televisions or lights or cars. Just accepts it and moves on. While Ezio, who comes from the time of great advancements in almost all things science, leaves no stone unturned.

“Hey, no, stop. That’s fragile,” I yelp, snatching my phone from his hands as he starts smashing the screen. “Like this, gently,” I tell him, running my finger across the screen, unlocking it. “It’s for communication, see?”

I dial the home phone, sending it ringing. He stares at it, eyes wide, and reaches for it carefully. His hands are gentle this time as he scoops it off the coffee table. He eyes it, unsure of what to do.

“Click the green button,” I tell him and, when he does, I motion for him to hold it to his ear. “See, it helps us communicate from great distances instantly. No more having to wait for a courier. Pretty neat, huh?”

_“Incredible.”_

See, I don’t mind showing him my world. Explaining to him how things work isn’t the problem. His small attention span is. Once his curiosity with the phone is settled he just lets it go. Fingers go lax as something else catches his attention and I have to dive towards the phone to keep it from crashing onto the floor.

“What is this?”

I turn to find him staring at Father’s model of a 1967 Chevy Impala. It sits on the bookcase, proudly displayed besides Mother’s _Supernatural_ paraphernalia—Mother likes the show, Father likes the car—and my heart just about stops as I see him reaching for it.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I cry, shooting forward. I latch onto his arm before he can grab it. “That’s a model of a car. Um, it’s like a carriage just without the horses,” I tell him when he gives me a confused look. “It runs by itself and is a lot faster too. They’re outside if you want to see them.”

Getting him away from anything breakable is now the priority.

“That will have to wait for later,” Mother says, emerging from the kitchen robe free. She’s still in pajamas though, clueing me into just how tired she is because Mother’s always dressed to impress. “Breakfast is ready so why don’t you help Altaïr set the table while I grab the boys.”

She doesn’t wait for me to reply, just leaves the room because she knows I won’t object.

“Okay,” I answer anyways and usher Ezio into the dining room. No way am I leaving him alone with so many breakable objects laying around. I seat him at the table before going into the Kitchen, smile on my face when I spot Altaïr scrubbing at some pots.   

“Thank you.”

I’m not too sure what I’m thanking him for but I feel like it needs to be said. Altaïr just nods, seeming to understand what I can’t explain. I continue to smile up at him as I gather the plates. After drying his hands, he takes them from me and waits for me to get the utensils before we make our way to the dining room.

Only to find Ezio on top of the table, one hand clamp onto the Chandelier while the other reaches for one of it’s lightbulbs.

“No, don’t!”

But it’s too late, he jumps back, burnt and cursing from more than that as his footing slips on the polished wood. He keeps his hold on the Chandelier in the hopes of regaining his balance but it turns out to be bad idea as the ceiling gives.

“Do all Assassins have a thing against Chandeliers?”

Ezio is fine, the distance between the Chandelier and the table isn’t enough to cause serious injury—except to his ego—especially with his armor. The glass doesn’t even shatter, it’s fall cushioned by Ezio’s body but the table creaks ominously.

“Here, let’s get this off him before he really breaks it,” I tell Altaïr, motioning for him to dump the plates onto a nearby chair. “Don’t move,” I warn Ezio as we carefully heft the Chandelier off him and move it to the floor. “Okay, tell me the truth. Does anything hurt?”

“I am fine,” Ezio says, slight blush dusting his cheeks as he sits up. “Just had the wind knocked out of me,” he says as he shifts off the table meekly and stares at the mess he’s made. “I would like to apologize—”

“Apologize to mom, not me,” I tell him as I scoop the utensils off the chair and head back into the kitchen. “Guess we’ll eat in the Kitchen. Table’s not as big but there’s no choice. Come. Both of you.”

They follow me obediently and, together, we set the table in silence. Silence that is shatter by a loud gasp and the kitchen door being thrown open.

“Jen!”

“My apologies, Madam,” Ezio says when Mother marches into the room, the others trailing behind her. The anger on her face is unmistakable as her gaze lands on me. “It was I who brought down your Chandelier. I will pay for the reparations necessary to make sure that it is return to it’s former condition.”

Mother stares at him for a long while, unsure how to handle the situation. She’s used to children trying to worm their way out of a scolding not men seeking to right their wrongs. She looks around the room, lost before returning her gaze back to Ezio.

“Um, yes. Well, that should be fine,” she mutters a light blush on her cheeks before she clears her throat. “There’s nothing for it now, though, so how about we just get to it?”

“Will he really pay for the damages?” Altaïr ask, voice a whisper as we move to take our seats. He ends up on my right, seated closed to Father who takes his usual seat at the head of the table.

“Doubt it,” I whisper back when I catch the smirk on Ezio faces as Mother lets the whole situation slide. “He doesn’t even have a place to _live._ ”

Once gathered around the table Mother sets out the bowls loaded with food and every helps themselves. Well, everyone but Altaïr who ends getting his own plate of preservative free food set in front of him with a kind smile from Mother.

“Thank you, Mrs. Anna.”

“Oh dear, I’ve already told. Anna’s just fine,” Mother says as she swipes Ezio’s plate before he can dig in. She sets another plate of preservative free food in front of him before he can complain. “You boys make me feel so old when you call me that,” she says, gaze pointed directly at Ken who just shuffles in his seat before she takes her own seat. “Now Jen, what have you learned?”

I recount my dream that I believe was more than just a simple dream and what I’ve managed to learn from Ezio. No one interrupts as I talk and I silently note that Alexis is nowhere to be found. I shrug it off though, figuring he’s either too busy with school work or sleeping.

“You ever think Minerva’s going to come to the realization that we can’t really help her until she tells us what she wants?” Ken asks, pushing the eggs around on his plate. “We’re not psychics here and unless she gives us some more information the best she’s going to get is us fumbling around.”

“Maybe she can’t?” Mother offers as she takes a sip of coffee, black and unsweetened. The tartness helps to wake her up as she offers up explanations. “Maybe she can only have a few seconds with them so she has to choose the best things to say and then send them on their way?”

“How long would it take to say, _‘hey, let them know they need to grab the apple’_ or something?” I ask, incredulously and Ken nods in agreement.

“Maybe she can’t,” Father offers up with a shrug as he dumps sugar by the bucket load into his coffee. “If you’re messing around with your timeline and ripping open wormholes, you’re primary concern would be keeping everything stable. Maybe saying the wrong thing can cause everything to spiral out of control. Especially, since she can’t seem to see what our actions would be.”

“If she can’t see us, how would she know that could happen?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“She can’t see what we will do but she can see their actions,” Father says with a nod towards the Assassins. “They’re keeping track of us through their actions. She can’t see you but she can see Altaïr, can probably hear him and, while the conversation are one-sided, what you say wouldn’t be hard to guess at,” Father theorizes. “She can’t see us but can guess at our actions and what she must have seen if she outright told us must not have been pretty.

“Imagine it,” Father says, taking a sip of his coffee. “A man comes up to, one you don’t know, and tells you a mysterious woman has sent them to you because she needs you to drop everything and go with him to defeat some unseen evil. What would you do?” he asks though he doesn’t wait for a reply before continuing, “You would call the cops or a mental institution and the man would be locked up, never to see his own universe again. Causing it to crumple in on itself, spiral out of control, or end up in a horrible condition.

“So, instead, she sends you a lost soul. Once just as confused and clueless as you are to peek your interest so much so that you might even follow him back into world because you’re a curious soul,” he reasons, taking a break to sip at his coffee. No one talks during his pause. “She must have run this simulation a thousand times, maybe even a millions, if not billions. Trying out person after person until she found the one so invested in his universe that they would go to hell and back to do what needed to be done. And even then, telling you everything might have turned out to be too risky. So, instead, she keeps you guessing because she knows you’ll always come to the right conclusion.

“Because she knows that you’ll do everything, give everything, to save her world,” he says, eyes locking with mine. There’s so much conviction in them that my heart beat soars. “You were chosen, handpicked from billions of others, to do what needs to be done because only you would be able to do it with only a handful of clues.

“Because only you can do what others couldn’t. And whatever that is, it won’t be pretty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse Ezio's OOC-ness but I've just never been able to take him serious. He's got a young soul in my eyes and I just can't help but see him as a little brother of sorts _(a hot one at that)_ and it's kind of rubbed off on here.


	15. Ch 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!!
> 
> Sorry about that extremely long pause but school's got me wishing sleep were only optional and not necessary. 
> 
> Anyways, this chapter just ties up some loose ends with Odell and Basim and delves a bit into Homosexuality in the Middle Ages.  
>  _(For anyone wishing to skip the Middle Ages' View part just stop reading after 'Al Mualim won't wait for ever')_

My sleep, after the meeting has been called to an end and Altaïr and I have been rushed off to bed, is empty. Dreamless. Nothing but pitch black. No Minerva or Nexus or Animus. Just eyes closing one second and opening the next to a clock that reads ten minutes past two in the afternoon. The stretch that hits me then is long, toe curling, and I accidentally smack the person sleeping next to me.

With Ezio in one guest room and Ken in the other, along with all other beds taken by their rightful owners, Altaïr and I had no choice but to bunk down together. No way was I sleeping on the couch, nor would I force him to either. Especially not since he's already shared his with me.

Altaïr grunts, pushing my hand off his face, where it landed post stretch, and rolls onto his side with a grumble. I stifle a chuckle and rise, the need to pee pushing me out of the warm bed and out into the quiet house.

I don’t have to look to know that Mother and Father aren’t home and won’t be until late at night. Their jobs run long hours. Sometimes they don’t make it home till the next day, especially Mother. Her job as a physician for a major hospital  even has her gone for two days at a time.

Once business in the restroom is taken care of, I pad towards the living room. I don’t know if Ken is still here or not but I figure it’s best to check. I don’t need him being late to pick up Anissa. Though my worry turns out to be for not as I find an empty room and made bed.

I crawl back into bed then, ignoring the arm thrown clumsily over my waist, and turn on the television. I flicker through the channels lazily while I'm dragged towards a pleasantly warm chest. The volume is low, barely audible as I settle on reruns of a once popular show and snuggle back under the blankets.

I’m not sure at what point I fall asleep but when I wake again the clock reads seven minutes till five. Nothing other than the _want_ for a shower pushes me out of bed then. I don’t have to work today. Really, having missed work yesterday and the day before, I should probably call to find out if I even have a job anymore.

I dismiss it as unimportant.

My job as the Night Pet Care Specialist at the PetSmart’s PetsHotel matters little to me at the moment. Though I’m sure, once all’s said and done, I’ll regret casually tossing my job to the wind. Maybe finally being jobless will give me the kick in the butt I need to go back to school. I had only meant for it to be one semester off. Just one semester to blow off steam and relax and take it easy but one turned into two turned into three turned into missing two years of school.

I’m so far behind it isn’t funny.

_Maybe I should apply for the Spring Semester._

Once washed, brushed, and dressed I return to my room to wake Altaïr. Ken’s research has told us that Jerusalem is roughly ten hours ahead of us so while we don’t know exactly what time it is in Altaïr’s world—we haven’t looked into it yet—I figure it’s about time for him to wake up.

Al Mualim wants him in his office bright and early.

“Altaïr, it’s time to get up.”

He just grumbles when I nudge him, pulling the blanket over his head as he turns his back to me. I huff in annoyance and continue to shake him but he continues to try to sleep, burying his head under the pillows. Left with no choice, I yank the blankets off him, dragging them off the bed and leaving them to fall on the floor.

“You’re going to be late and Al Mualim won’t be happy.”

Altaïr groans but admits defeat, rising from the bed and stretching. I toss him his Assassin clothes now that I’m sure he won’t drop back off to sleep. They’re clean, washed last night to get rid of the dirt, sweat, and blood.

"You hungry?” I ask as he dresses. He pauses with his borrowed white tee half way up, bunched under his arms and gives me a good view of his chest. His perfectly toned, nicely cut chest and deliciously sculpted abs.

My mouth goes dry.

My train of thought flies of the rails as my eyes trail lower, catching sight of that v exposed by the slightly too big sweats that dangle low on his hips. 

I can’t even remember what I’d been offering.

Damn those abs.

_They’re my kryptonite._

“Breakfast would be nice,” Altaïr says before pulling the shirt over his head and replacing it with his simple white tunic. The pants come off after that and I make sure to turn around before I catch sight of any of that.

“Yeah, sure, breakfast even though we kind of already had breakfast,” I babble, beating a hasty retreat out the room. “So lunch would be a better word for it. But yes, food. I shall get us some food.”

My cheeks burn the entire way to the kitchen. Though my embarrassment is forgotten when I realize I have no idea what to feed Altaïr. Not that I don’t know how to whip up something on the spot. It’s all the limitation set by his diet that leaves me floundering.

I search through the preservative free section of the fridge until I can think of something to make him. I end up making a turkey sandwich, sans chips but he’ll just have to deal with it. I make myself one as well and carry the sandwiches towards the living room, snatching two water bottles as I go. 

“Try me.”

“I would, but I do not wish to embarrass you.”

“Hey!” I cry as I dump the sandwiches on the coffee table, plates clattering, and toss the bottles next to them. Not caring as they tilt and roll off the table because Altaïr and Ezio stand toe to toe. They’re both decked out in full Assassin uniform including weapons as the stare each other down. “Easy, there now,” I soothe as I squeeze myself in between them, forcing them apart. “I didn’t know you were still here Ezio. Do want something to eat too?”

They both give me weird looks.

My intelligence is being questioned, I know it is but the distraction has worked. Ezio, confused and excited at the prospect of food, relaxes. His hidden blade retreats as he nods his head. Altaïr continues to stare him down but says nothing, makes no move.

“Here, take mine,” I tell Ezio as I hand him one of the sandwiches. They’re both made with the same ingredients so there’s no need to worry. With Ezio more interested with stuffing his face than fighting I turn my attention towards Altaïr. “Come on, now. Hurry up and eat. You’re running late.”

I don’t know if he is or isn’t but Altaïr obeys, taking a seat on the couch as I urge him towards it. He eats his food quietly as I take a seat next to him, switching the television on. I settle on some reality TV, giggling as I watch _Gordon Ramsay_ rush around calling people idiots.

They eat in silence then. With food in font of him Ezio forgets his previous hostility towards Altaïr. Not that it surprises me, really. In Ezio's time, Altaïr is revered as the greatest Master to ever lead the Assassin's.

That said, I'm sure nintey percent of the hostility (if not all of it) is due to Ezio's inability to back down from a challenge. He's never been one to walk away from a good fight so it should be no surprise that, while he deeply respects Altaïr, he isn't about to cower in fear of him.

“I should go,” Altaïr says once his plate is empty, bringing me from my thoughs.

“Should I go with you?”

“I am not sure,” he says as he scoops one of the water bottles from the floor and cracks it open. “It might be best if you do. Al Mualim believes you to be my apprentice, thus he might wish to talk to you as well.”

“If he demotes you, what happens to me?” I ask, taking the water bottle when he offers it to me.

“You would be put under the tutelage of another,” he says as I take a swing of the water. “That or you would be tested and put with a class fitting your rank. Let us hope that does not happen for the sake of your dignity.”

“What are you trying to say?” I ask, offend as Altaïr stands. There’s no hiding the smirk on his face as he gathers his plate and makes his way to the kitchen. “Oh, you ass, I am not that bad,” I cry as I race after him. He gives me a doubtful look and I just huff and cross my arms. “We can’t all be raised to train day in and day out. I have a life!”

He rolls his eyes but says nothing else. Grumbling under my breath, I head towards my room and pull on the clothes I’ve acquired from his world, aka the pink tunic. Sure, he got me a pile of hand-me-downs but I haven’t had a chance to grab something different to wear but the clothes I came home in. Though I choose a pair of my own leggings over the ones he gave me.

They’re softer, clingier. They feel nicer against my skin and are a lot more comfortable. 

Once dressed, I exit the room just in time to catch the trail end of Altaïr's conversation with Ezio.

"—nd tell no one of what you have seen today."

"What of the girl?"

"I will see to her safety."

"And the boy?"

Silence, though I'm not sure if it's because they've noticed my presence in the hallway or if there's a implication going unsaid that I'm not privy to. I walk towards them anyways, uncaring. If they meant to keep their conversation a secret then they would have thought to whisper. Maybe even stand somewhere that isn’t right outside my room.  

"We going?" I ask, ignoring what I've heard. Sure, they were talking about Ken and I but I highly doubt they want to hurt us. Minerva wouldn't have sent them to us if that had been the case. She needs us alive after all.

"Yes," Altaïr says, giving Ezio a meaningful look before making his way towards the attic. I follow after him, hesitating only when I realize that I don't know what to do with Ezio.

Do I just leave him here, alone, and hope for the best?

I linger in the hallway, eyes locked with Ezio even as Altaïr continues on. We share a long look as I calculate the pros and cons of leave Ezio with run of the house. The cons highly outweigh the pros though and the longer I stand there the more I consider staying behind to keep an eye on him.

Ken burst through the front door then, rounding the hallway and heading straight towards me before the sound of the door slamming closed even fades.

“Uh-oh,” I whisper as I catch the look on his face, eyebrows drawn together and lips turned down. “What happened?” I ask, hand coming up to catch him before he can race up to the attic. “What did they do this time?”

“Nothing,” he says, curt in his reply as he slips out from under my hand. He heads towards the stairs then. I stare after him wistfully, before heaving a sigh and making my way towards the attic.

“Ken—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, pausing at the top of the stairs. His hands clench on the rail, knuckles turning white. “Not now. Later. Promise,” he says before continuing on.

I say nothing more. I know better than to push so instead I follow sadly after him, eyes locked onto his back. He walks quickly, a man on a mission to avoid his emotions. That’s Ken for you. He finds peace and happiness in his machines, with his arms elbow deep in wires and smeared with grease.

I give him what he wants with one last look at him as we enter the attic.

“I’m going with Altaïr to meet The Master,” I tell him, picking up a pack of supplies. Mother’s made many more like the one Alexis first handed me, one for each of us actually. They’re stock with more items, though still small and light weight. Each new item thrown into the bags are useful in Mother’s opinion. Not that I’m saying they’re not.

Toilet paper is always useful.

“When will you be back?” Ken asks as he moves to scribble on the dry erase board hanging on the wall. He marks the time in the Entry Time slot under my name. Keeping track of how many time we go in and for how long has become important in their research as they fear what frequent time travel might do to a person.

 _‘A person’s body wasn’t meant to travel so fast, to be forced through a small space so suddenly,’_ Father had said, concerned. _‘The force may be low enough that you aren’t crush but it’s still strong. Ridiculously so. That, coupled with the speed, means you aren’t breathing while you’re in there. You can’t. Honestly, you’re all lucky you didn’t suffocated or aren’t suffering from oxygen deprivation.”_

Mother had agreed, subjecting Ken and I to tests to check our oxygen levels. She’d freaked when she found them teetering on the low end, nearly banning us from using the swirl. Father had stepped in to convince her otherwise, encouraging her to find a way to fight off the oxygen deprivation.

Thus, the oxygen masks.

“Not sure,” I tell him as I grab a disposable oxygen tank from besides the packs and strap it on. It connects securely to the bag. Small and light weight, it adds no bulk and almost no weight. Which is necessary for its disposal as I have to carry it back to my world to get rid of it, of course.  “Depends on how it goes with Al Mualim.”

I can’t just leave it in Altaïr’s world and leave future archaeologist to wonder, _‘what the fuck’_ , after all.

“Al Mualim?” Ezio asks, fury in his eyes and disgust in voice. Altaïr head tilts but he doesn’t react in other way, thankfully.

“Yes, _Al Mualim_ ,” I says, calmly, eyes locked with Ezio as I stress to get my point across. “The _Great Master_ of the Levantine Brotherhood, _during_ the time of the _Third Crusade_ ,” I say. I don’t know if he gets the point or not but the tone of my voice implies that this particular conversation has ended.

“Keep the oxygen on for ten minutes,” Ken says, drawing attention from Ezio’s line of questioning as he marks a question mark on the Estimated Exit Time slot.

“Ten?”

“You forgot to oxygenate last night,” he explains as he moves back to his computers. “Make sure you share some with Altaïr. Keep him on for fifteen minutes if you can. The more oxygen he gets, the better. He’s passed through the swirl far too many times for my liking.”

“Got it,” I mumble as I toss my phone onto a nearby table. It’s completely useless in his time, except to check the time so I switch it for a wristwatch. It’s easier to hide and less likely to spontaneously chime in a bad situation. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I tell him, picking up the recording glasses as I do, before nodding towards Altaïr.

He already stands next to the swirl, hand coming out for me to take at my nod. I grab hold of it, heart rate sky rocketing as he tugs me, gently, towards the swirl.

We make it to the other side with no complications.

The Oxygen Masks goes on to his face first. After Ken’s words, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re testing fate so I shove it onto him as soon as we’re safely stowed away in his room. He makes a face but allows it, breathing deeply when I instruct him too.

It’s still early in his world and, though the sun has risen, Altaïr insist it’s still too early to meet with Al Mualim. That said, we spend the time in his room, trading the mask between us until I feel we’re both sufficiently oxygenated.

“Odell said something,” I tell him, pulling the mask off to hand to him. “Something that has me confused,” I mutter, unsure whether I should ask. It’s not position to be asking such questions, plus, it all happen only a few hours ago.

The pain is still fresh, still new but I have to know what he meant.

“About Basim,” I say, taking the mask when he offers it. He waits in silence, lounging peacefully next to me on his bed, even as his eyes fill with pain, guilt, and regret at the sound of Basim’s name. “He said he would face the consequences of loving Basim but…but that Basim wouldn’t? What did he mean?”

“Basim was betrothed,” he says by way of explanation as he takes the mask back. He still looks calm but the peace has left him as he sits up straight. One hand comes to run through his hair, tugging slightly at brown strands that are only just long enough to grab hold of. “When The Crusades began, a group of Assassins were sent north when it was suspected Templars were seeking to sink their claws into the crown.

“I am not too sure how it happen but, while they were unsuccessful in riding England of the Templar threat they manage to establish a base there,” he says, going into far more detail than I would have expected for such a simple question but I take in the information given greedily. “While they were small, they managed to gather support of the people. To recruit others to The Brotherhood.”

History is amazing.

“Odell’s family was one of those that joined. More specifically his grandfather,” he continues, passing the mask back to me. “Who urged his father, who in turned urged Odell, to follow in his footsteps. During that time relations between two The Brotherhoods had become strained. They follow the same creed, of course, but not the same Master. Thus, Odell was sent to us with a group of other recruits to train and, hopefully, strengthen relations.

“He fell he love,” he says shrugging, nonchalant and not at all looking enraged that a man loves another man. Isn’t that consider sodomy in this era? Maybe it’s just Assassin thinking again? “But Basim’s had already been promised to another, as it wont to happen between Assassin families in the hopes of strengthening abilities and loyalty.”

_That right there makes my heart ache._

“He could have retracted his agreement,” Altaïr soothes when he catches the look on my face. “We give so much for the Brotherhood that we would not be denied love but…more than anything, Basim wanted children. He wanted a family, so he chose to go through with it.

“He married a young woman of a highly skilled family and had two children,” he says, voice going soft as the last of the oxygen makes it way from the tank with a light _‘hiss’._ “Odell would never have been able to give him that.”  

“Did he…did he love him?” I ask, voice a whisper. I’m left blinking away tears when I remember Odell’s words.

_“I will bring him to his family…”_

 “Yes.”

_Poor…poor everyone involved in that situation._

“But he grew to love his wife too,” he says, grabbing the tank and mask as he stands. “If not more so. When it came to his children, though, he lived for them. Fought for them. He was no longer an Assassin because he wanted to save the people from Templars but because he wanted a better world for his brats.”

There’s fondness in his voice but it’s overshadowed with grief, causing me to move before I’m sure of what I’m doing.

My arms wrap around his waist, grip tight, as I rise onto my knees on the bed. I lay my head on his shoulder, hoping that the simple comfort of a hug will be more than enough to sooth him even though I know it won’t.

He returns the embrace, burning his face in my neck as his arms go around me.

“It’ll be fine,” I promise, carding my hand through his hair as he pulls me into his chest. “It’ll hurt and they’ll be anger but we’ll be fine. We’ll _all_ be fine, given time."

We stay that like that for a long while. Neither saying a word until he’s ready to move. He pulls away from me slowly, drawing away though his hands remain on my hips. I smile up at him, hands coming up to hold face as I lean up.

“Trust me,” I whisper against his forehead as I plant a kiss there.

“I do.”

“Good, now come on,” I say as I gently push him away and climb off the bed. “Al Mualim won’t wait forever.”

He agrees, tugging his Assassin robe back on while I tug on my boots.

“Wait,” I say, hand going still, laces slipping from my fingers as I remember something else. “What were the consequences Odell was talking about?”

“The love between same gender couples has begun to be looked upon as sodomy.”

“Begun?” I ask, straightening so I can look him in the eyes. “You mean it hasn’t already?”

“Why would it?” he asks, genuinely confused as he meets my gaze.

“I don’t know,” I mutter, shrugging as I struggle to explain. “It’s thought that homosexuals weren’t really liked during your time and a man loving another man was punishable by then.”

 _“Homose…”_ he trails off, struggling to pronounce the word and giving me a look. “What does that mean?”

“It’s the name for a men who has sex with other men,” I explain, going back to my laces out of nervousness. I have a feeling this is going to be one awkward conversation.

“You mean Sodomite,” Altaïr says as he too begins to tug on his boots. “A violent, drunk, unpleasant person filled with anger and perverted thoughts, who spills their seed by masturbating or having sex without the intent to have children.”

“No, not at all,” I rush to explain. “Homosexual just means a man loves another man or a woman loves another woman.”

“Why would we kill someone for loving another?” he ask, the _‘stupid’_ obviously implied.

“Not sure,” I mumble, blush coming to my cheeks. Altaïr continues to give me a confused look and it’s then that it dawns on me. “But that’s what everyone believes though I’m sure now that it’s just some horrible misunderstanding. So, let me ask you this, if a man has sex with another man, it’s sodomy.”

“Yes,” he says, standing to don his many weapons, all which had been dump haphazardly onto the dresser upon arrival.  

“But if he just loves a man, he’s all good and won’t be sentenced to death?”

“He wouldn’t have been a few years prior,” Altaïr says after a slight pause, sword sheathing with a loud _‘click’_. “But times are changing, the reaches of Christianity expanding, and, with change, comes new views.”

“Christianity?”

“Their views do not hold same gender couples in good light.”


	16. Ch 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready? 
> 
> Up next we have some unexpected Ken POV, some revelations, and the much awaited confrontation between Jen and Al Mualim. 
> 
> So sit down, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

**_Ken's POV_ **

The readings make no sense. At least not yet. Not until he know exactly what he's dealing with. Though, after almost two weeks of continuous tests the only thing he can confidently say is that the swirls are stable. That there's no danger of them spontaneously closing.

The appearance of the second is cause for concern, of course, but all the information gathered from it states it is the exact twin of the first. Even it's jagged edges are the same. If it weren't because Ezio already confirmed that Minerva's behind this one as well he would have concluded it had been made by the same source as the first.

That's it, though.

That's all he can conclude.

Other than the first random explosion of energies when it appeared there is nothing else. They just sit there. Neither expelling nor consuming any energy unless someone is traveling through.

It makes all the machinery and studying almost useless. What good is it to continuously look at them if they're not doing anything? There's no information to be gathered off them. No way of knowing just how they're being created because the residual energies hanging around them is different.

_First Civilization Technology._

Based on different wave lengths and energy that either don't exist here or have yet to discover. His machines can't read it, can't make sense of it. They detect it as some anomaly, warning him to its presence but unable to offer any information on it.

He's tried upgrades and research but without knowing exactly what he's dealing with every attempt is a bust.

He won't know what he's dealing with until he get his hands on their technology. Until he can study and tinker with it. Until he can open it up and see how everything works. 

_I need The Apple._

"Is there anything I can help with?"

The voice startles him. Brings him back to the present and out of his thoughts as he turn to Ezio, frown on his lip.

"There's not really much to do," he tells Ezio, frustration getting the best of him as he tells Ezio the truth. "There's not much we  _can_  do. At least not until I can figure out just exactly how First Civilization Technology works and that might take a while since I have no First Civilization Technology to tinker with. Really, I'm just going to be fumbling around until I find something that does work which might take a long while and a miracle. Unless Jen can get her hands on Al Mualim's apple and brings it to me. Which would take another type of miracle and a huge stroke of good luck. More than she usually gets. Though, don't tell her I said that because she likes to believe it's all skill but that girl has so much luck on her side I'm amazed she's never thought to play the lottery. She'd definitely win."

He realizes he's babbling only when he notes that Ezio's blinking slower than is normal. He's obviously trying to follow but Ken's lost him at some point.

"There's nothing we can do," he says after a short pause and gestures towards the swirls. "I do not have enough information on them."

"Oh," Ezio says, gaze also going to them. The look on his face turns thoughtful before he shrugs. "I do not know anything of what could have caused this but I have a friend who might be able to help you find answers."

"Leonardo?" he asks, turning back to his computers and pulling up the files on everyone from the AC universe. All the data pads are link to the computers. They automatically update when any new information is added so they won't have to do it manually. "While we're on the subject of your world, do you mind telling me how old you are?"

"Twenty-eight."

So Ezio hasn't had contact with The Apple yet.

"How long until your birthday?" he asks, because this is important. Jen had said the ship carrying The Apple arrives in Venice from Cypress on Ezio's birthday.

"Two months," Ezio replies, easily offering up the information. Once again it feels too easy. These are Assassin, after all. Which makes him wonder just what Minerva showed them to make them so willing to cooperate.

Altaïr offered up some information on what he was shown but he highly doubt it was just that. There had to be more and it makes him wonder just how horrible it must have been to make them trust so completely in a group of strangers.

"Two months," he mumbles, thoughts turning to Altaïr even as he begin to compile the necessary information for everyone to be caught up on what's going on in Ezio's world.

Jen had offered up some information on his game as an afterthought. They'd been so sure that they'd only have to deal with one Assassin—hadn’t even thought of the possibility of others appearing—that she hadn't bother to tell anyone anything but the key points in Ezio's story.

Now, though, with Jen—the human encyclopedia on the Assassin's Creed Universe—off gallivanting in Altaïr's world he turns to Wikipedia for help. More specifically their page on the AC Universe timeline because this sounds ominous.

They have two months. Ezio called himself Minerva's back plan since they miscalculated enough to need one. That means they have two months to get whatever they need to do done before Ezio becomes necessary.

So….

What's happening in Altaïr's world in two months?

Wikipedia answers that question easily enough and he can't help but curse as he realizes what Minerva is not quite so successfully prompting them to do.

See Altaïr kills Al Mualim in two months. Which means Altaïr takes over the brotherhood in two months. Thus Altaïr gets The Apple in two months.

Therefore if, for whatever reason, Altaïr fails to get them The Apple then that's why they have Ezio. Because she wants them to get their hands on The Apple.

She says she opened the swirl too early. That it was supposed to open in 1247, around the time Altaïr would attempt to take The Brotherhood back under his control.

What for, though?

What could she possibly want them to do with The Apple of Eden?

His gaze goes to Ezio as he wonder this and he knows only one thing is certain about all of this. With so many pieces still missing, communication with Minerva as limited as it is, and only so much these two Assassins can do for them, he has the very distinct feeling that Ezio won't be the last Assassin to make his way into their world.

No...

He has a feeling they'll have another unexpected visitor in two months’ time.

Though the question is  _who_ will be the next Assassin to be thrown in head first into their world.

_Please no pirates._

~oOo~

**_Jen's POV_ **

"I don't know how I feel about this," I whisper as we make our way up the grand staircase and towards Al Mualim's study.

"Of all the times for your bravery to fail you," Altaïr remarks, voice also a whisper as he continues to lead the way.

"He's scary," I say with a shrug, not that he sees it as he walks in front of me, back to me. I, smartly, choose to leave out the part of him being a power hungry tyrant.

"All will be fine," he says. I choose not to point out the fact that he can't really promise me that because I know what might happen next and demotion is not good.

We finish the walk to Al Mualim's study in silence. Many eyes watch us as we go but we pay them no mind. Nor do we fret over the fact that some of their gazes hold anger and accusation in them.

It wasn't Altaïr's fault this time around no matter what Malik says. He didn't reveal himself to the Templars. They had already known that Malik, Kadar, and Altaïr were there. They'd basically walked into an ambush.

Wait.

I pretend to trip. Make my foot catch on the last step of the stairs and make sure to land on my hands and knees. Altaïr kneels down next to me instantly, checking to see if I'm fine.

"It was an ambush," I whisper once our heads are close enough and make sure to speak low enough not to be overheard. "Tell Al Mualim that Robert was expecting you and you had no choice but to attack."

I push off the floor then, a nervous giggle on my lips as I apologize loudly for my clumsiness. Of course, my unexpected descent has caught attention but nobody gives us suspicious looks so I figure we're good.

We continue on them and make it to Al Mualim study just as he finishes up a meeting with someone else.

"Ah, Altaïr," he says when he catches sight of us. He waves the other off, a figure dressed from head to toe in white and his face completely covered. At least I think it’s a he. "Leave us."

The figure leaves instantly, no complaints uttered as he moves so that Altaïr can take his pace before Al Mualim's desk.

"You are not from here," Mualim says, gaze glued on me as I take my place next to Altaïr.

"No, sir," I say, eyes glued to the floor respectfully. As much as I want to yell at him and call him a traitor and possibly stab his remaining eye out, I really don't want to end up dead.

"It fills my heart to know that our views are expanding," he says, and I bite my sarcastic reply back. "You did well in choosing a mentor. Altaïr, here is one of my most skilled students. May he teach you all he knows and more once he redeems himself."

"Excuse me?" I ask, head snapping up to look him in the eye. One of my eyebrows draws up as I wait for him to explain himself. But, when he takes too, long I find myself asking, "Redeems himself for what? Trying to save Kadar? The person who needs to redeem himself is the one who let a novice go on such a dangerous mission in the first place."

"Jen," Altaïr scolds, hand landing on my shoulder and harsh gaze meeting mine.

"Temperamental," Al Mualim observes, slight humor in his voice as his eyebrows pull up in amusement. "The life of an Assassin is not an easy one. We have rules to adhere to. One of which is to mind your superiors. You will do as you are told or face the consequences."

There's a threat in his words and I lower my gaze with a grumbled apology before he can act on it.

"I asked you yesterday if you remembered what it is we Assassins fight for," Al Mualim says, dismissing me as he turns back to the situation at hand. "It is not enough to end the violence one man commits upon another. Peace in all things means that we must have peace within us as well. You cannot have one without the other."

Altaïr says nothing as Al Mualim speaks but his stance is stiff. He's tense, weary of what will happen in the next few moments and Al Mualim must see it. He has to see it. He taught Altaïr everything he knows. Basically raised him after the death of his father so if anyone would be able to read him, it'd be Al Mualim. So he sees it, sees the change in him almost instantly as his eye looks Altaïr over. It goes from head to toe before turning my way.

"You have not found true inner peace, my son," he says a mournful tone to his voice. "It manifests in ugly ways. You are arrogant and over-confident. You lack self-control and wisdom."

Altaïr says nothing to defend himself. He can't. Up until two weeks Al Mualim would have been absolutely right. No matter how dramatic and sudden Altaïr's attitude change may be, it doesn't erase or excuse his past.

He still has a lot to make up for.

"Malik has asked for your life," Al Mualim says, voice casual as he begins to shuffle through some papers on his desk. "Yours in exchanged for that of his brothers."

"Will you give it to him?" Altaïr asks, voice just as casual. My eyes snap to him at the statement, wide and disbelieving.

_He's not really going to just stand by and let them kill him if the answer's yes, right?_

"To do so would be a waste of my time and your talents," Al Mualim says as he seems to find whatever he's looking for in the pile of papers on his desk. "Besides, as you have so clearly pointed out, I cannot believe Malik's words given the condition he was in as he uttered them. Still, you shall face punishment for the tenet that has clearly been broken."

"Of course," Altaïr agrees, head bowing in understanding. "What would you have me do?"

"You must prove to me that you can be saved," Al Mualim says, hands coming out, palm up as he talks. He gives Altaïr's weapons a meaningful look. Altaïr beings to unstrap his arsenal without any more prompting or any complaints. "You must show me that you remember what it means to be an Assassin. You will be stripped of your possessions and rank.

"I am offering you a chance to redeem yourself," he says he takes Altaïr's sword and lays it on his desk. The rest of Altaïr's weapons soon join it. Though, as he goes to unbuckle his hidden blade, Al Mualim stops him with a raised hand. "For breaking perhaps the most crucial of our tenets you will have to earn your way back into The Brotherhood."

"I assume you have something planned," Altaïr says then and Al Mualim nods pulling out a piece of paper.

"I hold here a list," he says, holding out to Altaïr. "Nine names adorn it. Nine men who need to die. They are plague-bringers. War makers. Their power and influence corrupt the land and ensure the Crusades continue. You will find them. Kill them. In doing so you will sow the seeds of peace, both for the region and yourself. In this way, you may be redeemed."

"What will become of my apprentice?" he asks as he takes the paper and begins to look over the names. Al Mualim raises a brow at the question but otherwise shows no reaction to the question.

"I would suggest she be taught by others while you attend to your mission but," he trails off, gaze once again going back to me. "You are not well liked as of now. I doubt others would be willing to train her in your stead. Even less so given her temperament. Her training will have to be put on hold."

"Understood," Altaïr says and I heave an unnoticed breath of relief. I guess snapping at The Master was a good thing after all. "Where shall I begin?"

"Ride for Damascus. Seek out the black-market merchant named Tamir. Let him be the first to fall."

That seems to be the end of meeting. Altaïr untenses and Al Mualim beings to store all the weapons now scattered on his desk in a crate he pulls out from under said desk. With the meeting over, Altaïr begins to usher me towards the stairs.

"A little forewarning though, Altaïr," Al Mualim calls before we can leave. "If you find the informants unwilling to share information on your targets, it is not being done out of spite."

Altaïr says nothing to that but his lips pull into a frown.

"I will dispatch a bird to inform the Rafiq of your arrival so be sure to visit the city's Assassin Bureau when you arrive. Speak to him. You will find he will have much to offer where others have none. Besides you cannot begin your mission without his consent."

We linger a bit longer after Al Mualim has gone quiet, waiting to see if he'll say anything else. Once he doesn't we make our way out the fortress in silence.

"That went a hell of lot better than I thought it would," I say once we're outside.

"Did it?"

"Oh yes," I tell him, eyes going up towards the sky as we make our way down the hill the fortress sits on. "Originally you had been stabbed through the stomach, brought back to life, scolded for being such an arrogant prick, and then sent to do a Novice's task."

"Novice's tasks?" he asks.

"Uh-huh. You had to track down the man you opened the gates for the Templars to get into the city," I say with a shrug when he turns curious eyes my way. "I have no idea why Al Mualim didn't make you do it anymore. Nor why he sounded a lot less angry."

"Perhaps because it was only one tenet that was broken instead of all three of them?"

"Probably," I agree, eyes moving back down to watch where we're going just as the crowd begins to thicken with people bustling about. "One thing's for sure, though. We're in for one hell of a ride. How far is Damascus from Masyaf?"

"It is a day’s ride from here," he says as we continue to walk. There's no real destination in mind though Altaïr really should be getting ready to take off on his first mission. He must be thinking about the same thing because he says, "I need to go to the stables to let them know I will be needing a travel ready horse in a few hours."

"Epona?"

He doesn't say anything as our route changes course but his lips pull up at the corners.

"Will you come say goodbye to the others first?" I ask, eyes going up as we pass the building where the swirl hangs. "Mother would consider it highly rude I you didn't."

"Then I shall make sure to say goodbye to the others before I depart," he answers. "What will you do while I am gone?"

"Probably check in on Ezio's world," I tell him with a shrug because that is something we have to look into. Sooner rather than later in my opinion. "We have to go in to check for any changes. We have to make sure that we haven't changed anything too severely at this point."

"What do you mean?"

"Ken and I don't belong here and any changes we make may have a greater effect than we might think in the future," I explain, voice low as I move closer until our sides touch so the chances of being overheard can be kept to minimum. "See, if Malik had not lost his arm then he wouldn't have become a Rafiq—"

I get yank back harshly. Altaïr comes to an abrupt stop, hand wrapping around my arm and pulling me with him. I turn to look at him with wide confused eyes as he seems frozen in shock until my brain catches up with my mouth.

_Oops._

"He lost his arm?"

"The healers could not save it," I mutter, hand coming up to sooth him. "It was too bad. They had no choice but to amputate. Minerva showed you that this would happen."

“Yes,” Altaïr agrees, slight anger in his voice, “but I did not know it would be this soon.”

He spins on his heel, dragging me with him as his hand moves to take mine in his. He rushes back the way we came as he tugs me along. I don't have to ask to know he's taking us to Malik. I just try my best to keep up with him without tripping over my own feet.

When we make it back up the hill, he leads us into the fortress and down one of its many halls. It’s all quiet, no noise making it's through the thick stone walls. At least not until a scream rents the air.

It’s loud and sudden and I jerk back but Altaïr continues to lead me forwards. Towards it, I realizes and I have a distinct feeling that I’m not going to like their medical rooms at all. No more screams fill the air.

The hall goes quiet once again. The only noise that of out boots clicking on the stone floor as the thick stone walls trap all other noises within their rooms. At least they do until Altaïr opens a door, wooden as all the others, and allows pitiful whimpers, chest rattling coughs, and heart wrenching sobs to spill from it.

“Nasir,” Altaïr calls as soon as he steps in, still dragging me behind him. I gape as my eyes take in their first look at medieval medicine and then promptly swear never to get sick or injured in this world because it’s…it’s….

_Horrible._

“Altaïr,” a man greets, old and brittle looking from his place at the bedside of some poor man. Many beds just like it line the wall. Some occupied with squirming men and woman and others—thankfully—empty. “What can I assist you with?”

There’s nothing sanitary about the place. Used bandages litter the floor and there’s piles upon piles upon piles of blood-soaked rags around the room. Clearly no one knows about bacteria and I cringe when the healer wipes his blood-stained hands on his already blood-soaked apron. He wears no gloves, or masks, or even attempts to properly clean his hands before he holds it out for Altaïr to shake.

_If Mother was here, she would have fainted._

“I am looking for Malik,” Altaïr says, taking the man’s hand like it’s nothing and it probably isn’t to him since he kills people on a regular bases but I still cringe. I silently pray I’m not about to be introduced. “But I…I do not see him here, please tell me he didn’t….”

“Do not fret,” Nasir says, a kind smile on his lips as he release Altaïr’s hand. I breathe a sigh of relief when his gaze doesn’t even flick my way. “He is in his room. We thought it would be best for him to be alone to…deal with his situation,” he says, moving back to his desk as he does. “The loss of an arm is not something that is…easy to overcome. Much less with an audience.”

“Thank you, Nasir,” Altaïr says, already turning to leave but Nasir stops him with a call of his name.

“Listen,” Nasir says, voice slightly hesitant. “I mean no offense nor do I wish to cause difficulties but I do not think it would be best for Malik if he were to…see you at the moment,” Nasir says, voice soft, delicate. This is obviously a man adept at telling someone bad news. “You…well, you are not his favorite person at the moment and I believe it would be best, for Malik’s peace of mind, if you were to maintain your distance until he has…overcome his losses.”

Altaïr says nothing, just keeps his back to the man. He nods though, once and stiff before leading me back out of the room.

“What now?” I asks, thumb rubbing soothingly across his hand in an attempt to comfort.

“We go to Malik.”

“Altaïr,” I huff, digging my heels into the stone to stop us. “The healer warned you against it,” I remind him as he stops, no longer dragging me along but hand still clasped tightly around mine. “Malik…Malik doesn’t want to see you right now.”

“I need to apologize.”

“You can’t,” I tell him, voice soft as I let go of his hand to wrap my arms around his waist. “If you apologize now, with him fully believing whatever Minerva showed him, then he’ll take that as you admitting that it did happen the way he’s saying. Can you imagine what Al Mualim would do to us if he thinks we lied to him?”

“What do we do then?” he asks, arm coming up to wrap around my shoulder. “How do we get him to see the truth?”

“The Apple,” I whisper with a shrug as we begin to walk forward again, still wrapped around each other. “We need The Apple if we want any way of getting him to believe us. Once he sees what it can do, he won’t be able to doubt us.”

“It is too dangerous to attempt it now.”

“I know,” I agree. “That’s why we bide our time. Do your missions, kill your targets…learn…learn from them all that you can. I’ll handle the rest. Just leave Malik to me…I have something in mind for him.”

“What are you planning?” he asks, a smile tugging at his lips as he gives me an amused look. I smile back and wink.

“You’ll see.”


	17. Ch 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm back. Took awhile but I'm here. I just wanted to make sure I was completely out of my angst trip so that this story wouldn't take a horrible unexpected turn. It still turns out a bit moping in the beginning but I figure Jen's entitled to it 'cause of all the crap she puts up with.
> 
> But anyways, I'm back and, with school ending for this semester this week, I should be updating more frequently.

“Thank you for calling PetSmart, PetsHotel in City of Industry, how may I help you this evening?"

My voice sounds fake to my own ears. Too cheery and happy to be real at the ass crack of dawn. Barks and meows and whimper and hisses fill the background, grating on my nerves as I struggle to hear the person on the other end of the phone.

_"Cut the bullshit and come home."_

Ken's voice is smooth, calm, not yet showing the threads of annoyance that I'm sure he's feeling. This is the fourth call in the pass half hour and I huff in irritation while I contemplate just hanging up the phone now.

 _"Quit moping and come help us deal with this shit,"_ he says, voice just a little high and tone the tiniest bit harsh as he continues, " _I don't care if you're sad 'cause Altaïr is off saving his world. But Ezio's still here so you're coming home right now."_

"Sorry,  _mom_ ," I sneer into the receiver, annoyance bleeding into my voice. I've been getting this type of attitude from him since making my announcement of returning to work a earlier today and I'm just about done with it. "I didn't realize I was the Assassins' Ambassador. Can't you deal with him?"

_"Minerva made them your responsibility."_

"Minerva can shove a ten foot pole where the sun don't shine," I hiss as I slam the door to the holding cells close. It's traps the pitiful whines and meows of home sick pets out as I turn my full attention to the call. "I'm working, Ken, so unless you have some questions pertaining to my job, I'm going to have to let you go. Pancresous needs his medication."

With that I end the call and turn my attention to getting dear ol' Pancresous' medication out of the filing cabinet. It's meaningless labor.

 _A distraction_.

A reason to keep myself from waiting aimlessly for Altaïr to return.

Getting my job back hadn't been as difficult as I had imagined. Big doe eyes and an apology and I was in again. Granted I'm beinging watched for the slightest screw up but I'm back with only a scolding and a few weeks probation.

The phone rings again, then, interrupting my hunt for the required meds. Cursing, I lift the handset out of its cradle and place it between my ear and shoulder while still rifling through the cabinet.

I'm pretty sure who it is but I still say the required words into the receiver.

"Thank you for calling PetSmart, PetsHotel in City of Industry, how may I help you this evening?" I ask, mouth on autopilot as I focus most of my attention on finding the medication.

_"You know, I fully believe in allowing your children to do as they please—"_

"Mom!?" I yelp, full attention going to the phone call. I wrap both hands around it, ignoring the orange vials that tumble to the floor as I jerk in surprise.

" _But allowing one's own child to drop unexpected—and uninvited—visitors in your lap while they go off to miserably do something they do_ not  _want to do is where I draw the line. I will not sit here and navigate with your ADHD afflicted friend while you're off moping at that 'hell hole'."_

"Mom," I whine in to the phone, one hand coming up to cover my eyes in embarrassment over the fact that everyone seems to know that I  _am_ in fact moping. "He doesn't have ADHD, he's just curious. It's why he follows Ken around like a puppy. Especially since Ken's the only one with the patience to calmly answer his never ending questions without feeling the need to throttle him. And I don't hate this place  _that_ much. And, even if I did, I can't just sit around waiting for him to come home. So what else am I to do while we wait?”

_"If I recall, there's a certain Apple to be obtained and a wormhole still to be explored. Or are you going to send Ken in by himself?"_

"Ezio will keep him safe," I argue as I bend to pick of up the fallen vials. Quickly checking the names on each, I place them into the correct sections.

 _"Oh yes,” Mother_  drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm.  _"Let's send the boy with insatiable curiosity—and constant need to tinker with anything he comes across—to the past with the man that has the attention span of a three old child—and the knack for getting into trouble—for protection. I'm_ positive  _nothing will go wrong."_

"Well..." I mumble, wincing as I finally find the right meds and realize that Pancresous will be requiring more pills than the last time I saw him. "When you put it that way it sounds like..."

_He's going downhill, fast._

_"Like you need to get it together,"_ Mother grumbles, annoyance replacing the sarcasm. And it hurts. It really does. Those words run right through me like a knife.

The line goes quiet then. No one says anymore as I stare mournfully at the vials. All the while wondering how much longer the poor old Border Collie still has in him.

_Dogs were never meant last._

_"Listen,"_ Mother says, voice softer as she realize that her words can be taken two ways. It's a no brainier as too how I've interpreted them. _“I didn't mean it like that, hun. You_ know  _I didn't. I'm proud of you, always have been. But you need to do better for yourself. You can't work for PetSmart forever."_

"I know," I mumble, dejectedly as I place the pills on the counter-top and fish out the administration instructions from Pancresous' file. "I know that I have to stop screwing around,  _I know._ But the semester's already started."

 _"Then apply for the next one,"_ she prompts gently, voice still soft.  _"Quit that dead end job so you can focus on what Minerva wants you to do. At least then you'll being doing something meaningful. And when that's all done and taken care of you can go back to school. Ken thinks all this won't last more than two months anyways. Just in time for the second semester."_

"What if it's not that easy?" I ask as I skim Pancresous' file and toss the required pills into a disposable cup. "What if we hit some major plot twist that takes longer than we anticipated to deal with?"

 _"Look, whether we hit a plot twist or not, this requires you attention a lot more than your job,"_  Mother reasons, voice still soft.  _"You have roughly four months before the start of the Spring Semester in both Mt. Sac and Rio Hondo Community College, so even if you haven't finished by the start of the Cal Poly Spring semester in January, you can go to those."_

"How do you know when they start?" I ask, slightly suspicious as I place the vials back into the filing cabinet. With a few minutes still left to Pancresous' medication administration time, I check the charts and prepare the next dose of meds needed. 

These are for a puppy named Steve with an ear infection.

With the amount of medication I have to dish out every night, you'd think we were running a pet hospital instead of a pet hotel.

_"Your Father and I were hoping this might be our chance to convince you to return to school."_

"We'll see," I mumble, as I pull the ear drops for the filing cabinet and place them in my apron pocket. "Look, I have to go. It's time for a few of the pets to take their medication. We'll talk about this when I get home."

_"Alright. Love you, hun."_

"Love you too," I say as I hang up. Grabbing the cup of pills and charts, I head back into the holding cells. That isn't quiet the right word for them, though. The cells used to house the animals left in our care are way too luxurious to be considered holding cells.

Pancresous, himself, stays in a private dog suite. The family pet of a wealthy family with the habit of taking many vacations a year, he’s a familiar face here. A lovable one too. There’s not one worker here who doesn't enjoy caring for the old Border Collie.

At fifteen years old and used to the routine, Pancresous doesn't even raise from his cot as I approach his room. He just lays there, hazy eyes locked on me, and tail wagging slowly as I enter his suite.

"Hey there ol' boy," I coo as I move towards him and sit beside his cot. "Haven't seen you in a while," I mumble as I place the cup of pills on the floor along with a bottle of peanut butter I swiped from the employee lounge on my way here. "I brought you a treat to help you down these nasty pills."

I spoon the peanut butter out and push the pills into them, hiding them from view. Ever the patient and obedient dog, Pancresous swallows them up without a fuss. Once medicated, I pat the poor dog's head as I fill out his chart to indicate that he has received his meds.

I move on to Steve next, cursing a bit as the pup refuses to stand still long enough for me to apply his ear drops. After that's done, there's not much else to do so I spend the rest of my shift periodically checking in on our guests and watching the clock.

Time almost seems to crawl by as I make my runs in the kitty cottages. It almost feels like time is slowing as I refill water bowls and clean out litter boxes. Buttons, a three month old Persian begs for attention as I clean his cottage and I pause long enough for a few pats and cuddles before moving to the next cage. Much to the poor kitten's displeasure.

Tiny meows of neediness bounce of the walls then and I chuckle.

It's funny, really.

How your whole world can be flipped upside down in one minute and then be business as usual the next. How the world can keep spinning like nothing is wrong when you're so sure the laws of physics and reality died a horrible painful death when a time traveler fell from the sky, taking your ceiling with him as he crashed into your life.

But it does.

The world keeps spinning, keeps moving. It forces you to face each new day whether you're ready to or not and it's almost reassuring in a way. It's a reminder that, no what matter what happens it's not the end of the world.

No matter what Minerva has planned for me or what happens in the months to come, I need to do  _me._

 _I_ need to have something planned out for myself. Something to fall back on when this is all done and over with because it  _will_ come to an end. One day, I'll wake up and there  _won’t_  be a mystery to solve or an out of time Traveler to deal with.

 _Someday_   _Altaïr won't be here._

And I have to be ready for it. I have to be ready for my world to go back to business as usual. So I have to be prepared—both mentally and emotionally—for when I have to come back to reality.

My reality.

A reality full of video games and Ken and work.

But do I really want that? Having had the chance to do something incredible and explore the past, do I really just want to be the girl that traveled through time and went back to work her dead end job?

 _No. No I don't._   

By the time the clock hits seven, I all but bolt out the door. My co-worker watches me go with a bemused smile on her lips. Still, though, she says nothing to call me back after I've given her a detailed list of all the things I've managed to do and all the things still left to do.

I hit no early morning traffic as I drive home in my beat up Corolla, thankfully, and reach my house in record time.

I don't bother check if anyone is awake, just enter my room and throw open my computer. Opening up a new word doc, I begin to type with a huge smile on my face.

 _'Monday, October 20_ _ th _ _, 2014_

_Pat Callahan_

_PetSmart_

_21848 Valley Blvd, City of Industry, 91789_

_Dear Pat_

_It is with regret that I submit this letter of resignation...'_

~oOo~

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

I ignore Ken for the most part, a small smile placed on my face as I try not to look as out of place as I feel. The sun bares down on us as we walk the dirt path, though the tunics we’re wearing keeps us cool as best as they can.

Around us, people go about their business as we pass by them, unnoticed. Dressed in the correct period clothing we do not stand out as we carefully make our way deeper into the Assassin city. That is until a figure coming up the dirt path gives a slight pause, face hidden under a white cowl obviously turned in our direction.

 _“Jen,”_ Ken warns as the Assassin changes course and heads directly towards us. Once again I ignore him as I keep walking, desperately trying to exude the confidence of someone that belongs. Like I’ve walked these paths every day of my life instead of only just recently.

_“And so the fledgling shows her face once more.”_

“Odell!” I chirp as I recognize the arrogant tone said in perfect English. Being in the presence of one of Altaïr’s few friends is a small comfort. Especially, since I have the nagging feeling that I need to be careful of anyone seeking some sort of misplaced revenge on Altaïr.

Altaïr hasn’t been all that great at making friends, after all.

“I feared you had gone into hiding. Or worse…,” Odell says, very aware that Altaïr isn’t the best like person in Masyaf. He doesn’t spare my companions a glance as he speaks again. Instead, hidden eyes roam the city, keeping an eye out for danger. “I have been searching for you.”

“I kind of was hiding,” I admit, slightly sheepish as I rub the back of my head. Though I don't clarify that what I'd been hiding from hadn't been revenge thirsty civilians but my own emotions and responsibilities. “I went out of town actually with the hopes that things would be calm by the time I returned. Have they?”

“A bit,” Odell admits as he turns back to me and finally gives my companions a long, appraising look. “Though much of that has to do with the fact that Altaïr is not here. Al Mualim made a good choice in sending him out of the city. It gives the civilians a chance to overcome their losses without the constant reminder of who is at fault taunting them with his presences.”

"I guess," I mumbled, eyes looking Odell up and down as I take in his words. It almost sounds like he blames Altaïr. But he doesn't, does he? "Odell, this is Kenny Chase, my brother in all but blood, and Ezio Auditore, his companion," I introduce, steering the conversation away from dangerous ground. "Guys, this is Odell."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Odell says, hand reaching out to greet them. Ezio steps forward, dressed in a simple tunic and leggings rather than his full Assassin get up, he looks like any other civilian. His sword still dangles from his hip, though, as do the vambraces still cover his arms but they’re hidden beneath the sleeves of his tunic. 

He’d given Ken his short sword, muttering something about protection and how it would be more odd to see an unarmed traveler than an armed on.

"Like wise," Ezio greets, hand bypassing Odell's hand and gripping his forearm instead. Odell doesn't question the move, simply wraps long fingers around Ezio's forearm in return. If he feels the vambrace—which I’m sure he does—hidden from view, he says nothing. "I've always wanted to visit the Great City of Masyaf."

"I hope Masyaf lives up to your expectations," Odell says, eyes going up to look at the looming fortress. "She has certainly met all of mines," he continues, something in his voice hinting that the expectations set weren't all that great. Fingers unwrapping from Ezio's arm, he turns his attention to Ken. 

"It's nice to finally meet you," Ken says, fumbling a bit when Odell goes to grab his arm instead of his hand. Odell gives him no grief over it but his does narrow in on Ken. Eyes watching him more intensely for reasons I can't quiet place. "Jen has told us so much about you. It’s nice to finally be able to put a face to the name."

"She has?" Odell questions, a chuckle in his voice as he releases his grip on Ken's arm. "All good things I hope. But, alas, I have not heard of you. Would it be wrong to assume that you lot are travelers from up north as well?"

"Did the pale skin give it away?" Ezio jokes, comfortable even in the presence of a dangerous man. He acts like a friendly traveler, naïve to the Assassin’s and their city’s way of life. “I told them we should lay in the sun to gain a bit more color and stand out less.”

Odell chuckles, low and a little strained. Whether it’s at the bad joke or something else, I’m not sure. He seems distracted, eyes flicking all around, setting us on edge without meaning to. Ezio's posture slowly begins to tense and I start to think of a way to politely leave before Ezio can grab the man and shake him until he tells us what’s wrong.

"I will let you three continue on your way. I apologize for leaving so suddenly but I have my own business to attend to," Odell says, saving me from having to come up with a lame excuse as something finally holds his gaze. He looks over us, attention returning to where he'd been heading. "Though I would hope that you do not vanish into thin air again, Jennifer. The world is a dangerous place for us, especially a fledgling such as yourself."

"I won't," I reassure Odell, touched that my safety is on his mind even though he's obviously upset with Altaïr. "Wait, Odell," I call, catching his arm as he begins to push past us. I wave the others forward, wishing for privacy that they automatically give. "How are you?"

"I...I have had better days," Odell admits, voice low and head turned to the side. He doesn't turn to look at me, but the tone of his voice, ragged as he stares up at the fortress once more reveals enough for me to know how he's really faring.

“Odell,” I say for a lack of anything better, hand coming up to lay on his arm in an attempt of comfort. He doesn’t shrug me off. Doesn’t try to put distance between us or lean into my touch. He just stands there, lost in his thought for a while.

I allow him his privacy. Hand not moving as I wait see what he will say or if he will say anything at all.

"The thing about this life," he says after a short pause, looking back in my direction, "is that you have to be prepared to sacrifice everything at a moment’s notice. I have lived knowing that anything I have will one day be taken from me. I have made my peace with a number of losses in my life already thus you can say I have become accustom to it. 

"You cannot live this life and keep everything you hold dear. Therefore, asks yourself this," he says, eyes shining bright from under his cowl. This close up, I can catch sight of his face, his eyes staring down at me. Willing me to feel the weight of his words. "Are you prepared?"

_No, I'm not._

I don't answer him. I can't but he knows the answer, must read it in my eyes become one hand comes up to clasp my shoulder. The grip is soft, steadying as he gives me a pitying look.

"This will not be an easy road," he says, hand falling down from shoulder as he once again looks up at the fortress. He can't keep his eyes off it, I realize. With the wound and hurt so fresh, the fortress is nothing but a constant reminder of all he's lost and all he will lose. "I pray that you have the strength to endure it."

He leaves after those words. Says no more as he continues on his trip up the dirt path and I’m left wondering if I’ll come out of this with all my pieces intact.

“Jen?” Ken calls, slight worry in his tone, from a few paces away. Ezio stands next him, tense as they wait for me to join them.

“Going,” I answer, struggling to shake off Odell’s words. “That was…weird,” I mutter as I reach their side. Ken nods in agreement and Ezio just shrugs for lack of anything better to say. “But we’ll talk about that later. Have you seen enough, Ezio?”

“Of the city?” Ezio asks, gaze going back to watch said city. Roaming over the building and civilians and trails. He memorizes as much of it as he can from the ground, having already view it for hours from the sky. “Yes, I have seen enough of it,” he says, eyes trailing up an over a building, no doubt looking for hand and foot holds. He nods to himself once his eyes reach the top. “But I need to see the fortress. I can map and learn the city but none of it will be of much help to us. I need to find a way in and out if you want the apple.”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to get in,” I tell him as we continue to walk the path. I don’t fear eavesdroppers as we talk. Speaking directly to Ezio means we’re speaking in a different language, one I’m sure not too many know—if any—so it’s with complete confidence that I say, “the Assassin might see me as a trainee but you guys aren’t even part of this community. And it's a very tight-knit community for the Assassins who live in the fortress since they seem to keep close—bathing, living, training and, eating together. So I don’t think they’ll let just anyone in, not unless invited by The Master or some other Assassin.

“I’m just a newbie,” I tell them as we near the gates to the city. We’ll have to double back soon but I try to subtly take us as close to them as we can get. Hoping to check if Altaïr’s arrived yet without drawing Ezio’s and Ken’s attention. Though I’m pretty sure they already know what I’m doing and are just humoring me by following. “They don’t trust me, not yet. Less with the fact that I’m Altaïr’s apprentice and half the city is mad at him. So there’s no way in hell you two would be allowed into the fortress. Not without some higher up Assassin to get us in.”

“Odell?” Ken asks hopefully as we pass the fountain standing right before the gates. Ezio pauses next to it, hands dipping into the water to splash some on his neck and face. Even with the tunics, feeling the heat is unavoidable.

“I’d rather not involve anyone in this mess,” I tell Ken as I grab the edges of my tunic—yes, the pink one, I haven’t been very smart about grabbing the other clothing Altaïr gave me before going home—and moving it up and down. The wind dries some of the sweat on my skin, providing temporary relief. “If he doesn’t believe us that Al Mualim is bat shit insane and trying to take over the world then he’ll probably try to kill us.”

“Great,” Ken mumbles as he joins Ezio by the fountain, throwing water onto his overheated skin. “So this means we can only access the fortress when Altaïr is around. Do you know how impossible that will be since he’s off doing missions? And let’s not forget that the people here don’t trust him as far as they can throw him. We’ll never get in.”

“Unless…,” Ezio says, slowly as he pulls away from the water. “Unless  _I_ go in.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, watching as Ezio pulls up the sleeves of his tunic to reveal the vambraces. I watch him cautiously as he takes them off only to put them back on over his sleeves. “Ezio…what are you planning?”

“You said only a high ranking Assassin can enter the fortress,” he say, nonchalant as he begins the track uphill to said fortress. “Lucky for us, I’m a  _Master Assassin_.”

“Oh fuck no,” I yell, rushing after him and tackling him from behind. He doesn’t fall forward but it’s a close call as he regains his footing before we can meet the floor. “You still have your finger, you dumb ass. That’s a big indicator to anyone here that you’re not a master,” I tell him as I grab the back of his tunic and lead him back to where Ken still stands by the fountain. “Unless you’re saying you wouldn’t mind us chopping it off? I’m pretty sure I can find an axe around here somewhere if that’s the case.”

“I…,” he balks, face going slightly pale as he lets me drag him along. “On second thought, maybe it  _would_ be best to wait for Altaïr.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“How much longer do you think it’ll be?” Ken asks as he turns from the water, not the least bit concerned over Ezio’s ridiculous plan. “Hide those, please, Ezio. We really don’t need people asking questions.”

“One day to get there, another to get back, and however long it takes him to kill the target,” I tell him, watching as Ezio begrudgingly tugs his sleeves out from under his vambraces. He covers them without a complaint, understanding that explaining why he has an Assassin’s hidden blade would be difficult without blowing everything. “He has to save three civilians, interrogate, eavesdrop, or pickpocket three others and then actually kill the man. That’s going off the game though and, at this point, I’m not sure how much of that we can trust.”

"He has to kill nine targets in two months," Ken says, moving away from the fountain to sit on a nearby bench shaded by some trees. Ezio and I join him instantly, basking in the cool breeze. "Most of which would be spent travelling as Acre and Jerusalem are thousands of miles away. Given that Jerusalem is a five day ride one way and he has to make the trip six times, that's thirty days of travel just for Jerusalem. Add in the Twelve days of travel for Damascus and that's forty days out of the sixty-one already, so the kills would have to be quick just to be done within two months."

"Let's not forget that he has to find his targets himself," I add in as I lounge of the bench next to Ken. Ezio leans against tree as we talk, head bowed and eyes closed, but I don't make the mistake of thinking he's not paying attention to his surroundings. "He has to hunt them down himself. So how the hell does he get it done so quickly? If it's going to take him more than a month just to travel around, and we don't even know how long it takes to get to Acre, then how? Not even video game logic can explain this one."

"He is not taking the trails," Ezio says from his spot, eyes never opening even as he explains. "A five day ride if you follow the long winding paths. Less if you cut through all of the cities and woods, and rest only for a few hours a day. The world outside of your own city is a dangerous place for any Assassin, much less one on a mission. _Especially_ if you are on a mission to  _kill_ someone. You will avoid the paths. Stay out of sight. Cut through the cities as quickly as possible to avoid detection."

"So he's not following the paths?"

"I would not," Ezio says, shrugging before his eyes snap to the side, looking at the gate just as a man enters. "At least not on the way to kill my target. Afterwards, maybe. Depending if the guards caught a good enough look of me to post wanted posters."

“Altaïr,” I whisper, more of a breath of relief than a whisper because it’s him. Even from a distance, I know it is. He hears the call of his name. The wind carries it to him and he heads in our direction while I stand to greet him. “You’re back,” I say we he’s only a few feet from us and he nods. “How’d it go?”

“The target is dead,” he says, voice blank of any and all emotion.

Ezio reacts to it instantly. Weirdly. He straightens. Pushes off the tree, catching Altaïr’s attention as he carefully moves to stand next to Kenny. There’s a tension to his body, an alertness I can’t quiet explain as he keeps his eyes firmly planted on Altaïr.

Waiting for him to make a move.

“Are you okay?” I ask, talking to both of them. Ezio says nothing, nor does Altaïr though he does turn his attention back to me. It’s then that I see it, as his head swivels in my direction in a way I can only describe as stiff. Like a doll, tense, nothing about the way he moves is fluid but all predatory. “Altaïr?”

_He’s still in Assassin mode._

“Easy, Altaïr,” Ezio says, making Altaïr’s eyes snap back him. “The mission is over,” he says, shuffling a bit to put himself in between Altaïr and a still seated Ken. “You are in Masyaf,” he tells him, voice calm and soothing, no doubt used to having to deal with Assassin’s still struggling after a kill. “You are safe."

Killing someone isn’t easy.

_Not unless you’re a complete sociopath._

“Hey,” I say, voice just as soothing and calming as inch I towards Altaïr. His gaze snaps back to me quickly and I hold my hands up as I approach him. Confident in the fact that I know he won’t hurt me for reasons I can’t explain. “I just saw Odell. He seems to be doing…good,” I tell him, hoping to bring him out of Assassin mode with inane chatter. “Well, as good as he can be given the circumstances.”

He doesn’t respond to my words just watches me as I near him enough to hug him.

Human contact should help him, right?

“I haven’t gone to see Malik, although I promised I would,” I admit as I wrap my arms around his waist and snuggle into his side. Slowly I lead him to the bench, still wrapped around him and push him to sit while Ezio leads Ken away from us. “I was too busy doing…actually I wasn’t busy. I just didn’t,” I tell him as I snuggle into him on the bench even though it really is too hot to be snuggling. “Though I did go to work today. Or last night would be more like it. Nobody was too happy about that actually.”

I keep talking, voice soothing and low, until my throat goes dry. Babble about anything and everything under the sun as I try to bring him back to reality. Slowly but surely, Altaïr relaxes. I’m half way through telling him all about Pancresous by the time Altaïr has shaken himself out of his Assassin’s instincts enough to give wordless responses.

His arm wraps around me, then, tugging me more fully into his side. We sit there for a long while. Though definitely no more than an hour or two. By the time Altaïr begins to give verbal response, the sun hangs low in the sky.

“Thank you,” he mutters, voice low and a little ragged as he buries his head into my neck. I hug him tighter then, one hand coming up to push under his hood and comb through his hair. Grounding him further as he works through the guilt of having taken a life.

“Any time.”


	18. Ch 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I was gone for so long but I didn't forget about you guys. I swear! I know I promised to update more frequently but I was just...going through some things but I'm back with this lovely chapter just for you guys.

"Altaïr, you have returned."

Al Mualim voice is not surprised at Altaïr's arrival. Instead it's almost monotone, bored, because it'd be more surprising if Altaïr _hadn't_ returned. He knows Altaïr wouldn't fail him. No emotion flows into his words as he speaks. 

"You have done well, Altaïr," he says as we come to stand in front of his seated form. "And I am confident that this is but the first of many successes."

I make sure to keep myself mostly hidden from view behind Altaïr. I don't know if I'm even welcomed here but Altaïr hadn't been opposed to the idea. He hadn't asked me to stay with the others or even to tag along. Almost as if my presence at his side is a given by now.

The others wait for us in Altaïr's room. Or at least that's where we left them. If Ken's managed to keep Ezio from going out to explore the Castle grounds is another story. Though, Ken knows this could be one of the few opportunities we might get to have Ezio inside the fortress so I'm sure those two aren't anywhere near where we've left them.

I just hope they don't get into any trouble.  

"Tamir spoke as if he knew you well," Altaïr says, cutting right to the point. Blunt and direct and Al Mualim doesn't look the least bit surprised. "He implied my work had a larger meaning."

"Significance comes not from a single act," he says without missing a beat. Used to Altaïr's non-existent subtle-ness he continues without batting an eye, "but the contexts within which it is performed. The consequences born of it."

"Is there more that I need to know?" Altaïr asks, tense from more than just their conversation. It's been a rough couple of days, after all.

"Altaïr your greatest failure was born of knowing too much," Al Mualim says, one eye locked meaningfully on Altaïr. "If I choose to withhold information it is only to ensure you do not make the same mistake a second time."

"I see."

"No, you don't!" Al Mualim yells, raising from his seat. "And it will remain this way until you have learn your lesson," he says, palms of his hands flat on his desk as he bends over it before straightening carefully. Slowly, as if he's struggling to keep his temper in check. "Still you have performed competently. And as such I will allow you a night of reprieve.

"Take the rest of the day to rest and recuperate," Al Mualim says as he moves towards his bookcase full of worn, leather books. On one of the shelves sits a small bird cage and he reaches for its door. "Though I expect you to be on your way to either to Arce or Jerusalem by tomorrow. Do not dally, both cities require your attention," he warns as he lets two birds fly. "The bureau leaders will tell you more about what needs to be done."

"Yes, Master.”

“And, Altaïr, take this as well,” Al Mualim says, setting a blade down on his desk and sliding it towards us.

Altaïr says nothing, just takes the blade with a bow that I awkwardly mimic. He ushers me towards the stairs then. With a hand on the small of my back, he leads me down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

People mill about the courtyard, some training, a few cleaning, and others lounging in the shade. I'm not too sure what the plan is now that Altaïr has gotten a day off. There's still a lot to be done but, before we can discuss our next course of action, we're stopped in our track by a shout.

"Altaïr!" Rauf's voice is instantly recognizable. It’s a voice you can't quite forget after hearing it one too many times as he ropes you into training. I grumble in annoyance, nodding in response to Rauf greeting nod as he says, "It seems my students do not fully understand what it is to wield the blade. Perhaps you could show them what you know."

Altaïr's eyes go to me but I just shrug as I meet his gaze. It's his decision, after all. If he wants to teach some novices a few moves, who am I to stop him?

"What would you like me to show them?" Altaïr asks casually as he moves towards the training ring. I follow a step behind, not really interested in watching the fight and more concerned over figuring out why this part stayed the same when so many others hadn't.

Sure, Altaïr was demoted, stripped of his weapons even though I tried to stop it. Still, I see no reason why the practice would be necessary when it had only been to show us, the players, how to attack with the weapons returned to him.

"If you could show them how to properly wield a Short Blade, it would be more than enough," Rauf says, walking side by side with Altaïr. Though, once they reach the training ring he leans against the fence while Altaïr vaults over it. "Though they could really benefit from watching a true master perform a Counter Attack."

Altaïr gives a nod as he pulls the Short Blade out with a deadly sounding _slink._ He moves into the center of ring, feet spread, knees bent, stance ready as the trainees mutter nervously around the ring.

He _looks_ deadly.

"Tufayl," Rauf calls as I lean against the fence next to him. He raises a hand, beckoning a trainee from across the ring. Most of the students are gathered in that section, nervously squished together instead of spread around the ring as they size up their opponent.

There's a moment of shuffling before a small teen gets pushed to the front of the group. Stumbling towards the fence, he just manages to catch himself before he can collide with it. Big, wide, brown eyes stare at Rauf from across the ring as the teen violently shakes his head.

"Tufayl," Rauf warns and the teen hangs his head in defeat as he climbs into the ring. "Get into position, Tufayl, and attack when you are ready."

The teen nods as he mimics Altaïr's stance without any of the deadliness. Away from the group, he looks smaller, thinner. He looks younger than any of the others. I watch him curiously as he springs forward without warning, wooden training sword clutched tightly in both hands.

Altaïr dodges the attack easily, side stepping the teen and sending him to the floor with a good shove. Laughter erupts around the ring, all of the other trainees laughing at the small teen's failure. It makes him slow to rise.

There's a huge, shamed blush on his cheeks as he climbs onto his knees. Still, the teen clambers to his feet and picks his sword back up. Getting back into his battle stance, they circle one another, watching each other carefully. Though, it doesn't take long for Altaïr to send him crashing back to the ground.

It goes on for a while, though, after one too many failed attacks, the teen stays on floor. Legs folded under him, he makes no attempt to get back up or pick up his sword. Head down, shoulder slumped he, wordlessly, admits defeat.

Altaïr watches him for a second, before his gaze flickers up to meet mine.

_‘Help him.’_

Head tilted, eyebrow cocked, smile in place, the words are painted on my face. He sees them, reads them as he moves to stand before the fallen teen.

"Your center of balance is off," Altaïr says as he holds his hand out. Slowly, cautiously, the teen takes it and Altaïr helps him stand. He nudges the teen's feet apart, gently pushes the back of his knees until the kid bends them. "You must always focus on keeping your weight evenly distributed. Otherwise it is easy for your opponent to knock you down.

"Do not simply swing," Altaïr says as he takes the same stance next to the teen. "Doing so will throw your balance," he tells Tufayl as he moves slowly so that Tufayl can follow his movements. "It is important to remember the each swing must be made with a step."

He steps forward at the same time as he swings. Next to him, Tufayl follows his lead. Together they practice various steps and attacks, each more complicated than the next. The other students watch in both awe and envy as Altaïr continues to train Tufayl.

"This," Rauf mutters next to me, voice almost inaudible. The words are obviously meant only for him but I manage to catch them. "Is most unusual," he mumbles as he continues to watch Altaïr do something he wouldn’t have done before.

Sure, the old Altaïr would have performed a couple of attacks to awe the novices at Rauf’s request. But he never would have gone beyond that. Never would have taken the time to give someone one-on-one training.

Rauf eyes turn to me then. I pretend to be too focus on Altaïr and the teen to realize.

“These things take time,” Altaïr says as he straightens, abandoning his stance and sheathing his weapon. “They are not something that can be learned over night,” he tells the teen, hand coming up to pat the teen’s shoulder. “The best thing to do is to keep practicing but I think that should be enough for today.”

“Thank you, sir,” the teen gushes then, bowing awkwardly before racing back to the cluster of teens with a huge smile on his face.

“Many thanks, Altaïr,” Rauf says as Altaïr heads towards us. “Tufayl is talented in many things, but close combat is not one of them.”

“He seems fairly young,” Altaïr says as he climbs out of the ring. “Younger than I would expect of those normally placed under your tutelage.”

“Like I said, he is talented in many things,” Rauf says, proud smile in place as his gazes goes back to Tufayl. “I have not known another as skilled in observation and investigation as he. He can track a hare through rain and darkness. Pick out the correct target with only a handful clues and locate them with even less, but put him in battle and he falters.”

“Maybe he is not meant to be an Assassin,” Altaïr tells him, mouth set in a frown as he too turns to look at Tufayl. The teen stands amongst the others with his shoulders squared and head held high. “Not everyone possesses the ability to pick up a weapon and fight, much less take a life.”

“That is true,” Rauf agrees, gaze going sad and distant as he continues to watch Tufayl. Tufayl who eagerly begins to show his fellow trainees the moves Altaïr has shown him. “I fear the life of an Informant might be all the Tufayl can achieve.”

“Worry not, brother,” Altaïr says, as he turns back to Rauf. “The boy still has years to grow and learn before anything can be certain.”

“Yes, of course,” Rauf says, smile coming back as he turns his full attention back to Altaïr. “I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?”

“It’s not something to be ashamed of,” Altaïr says, shrugging. “A good Mentor worries about his student’s future almost as much as the student’s parents.”

“Of course,” Rauf says, smile going brighter. “Now, I have kept you two long enough,” he says, finally turning his attention to me. “I did not mean to ignore you, but I must always focus my complete attention on the happening of the ring lest something bad happens.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” I tell him, waving off his apology as I give him a small smile. “I was too into the spar to be bothered over the lack of small talk.”

“Then all is well?”

“Of course,” I reassure him, smile going wider in response to his own. He may have been annoying during the game but I think I’m starting to like this one. “Are you going to show them more moves?” I ask, Altaïr and he shakes his head no.

“We will be taking our leave,” Altaïr says, hand once again going to the small of my back as he begins to lead me away. "Safety and Peace, Rauf.”

“Upon you as well, Altaïr."

We walk in silence for a beat, before I can't hold it in any longer. Eyes flicking back to watch Rauf rein in his class, I mention something that caught my attention.

"He has eagle vision," I blurt out. It's a statement, not a question and it earns a raised eyebrow from Altaïr. "He does have the second sight, doesn't he?"

"How did you know?"

"Rain and darkness? No regular human would be able to track a bunny through that," I explain to him as we pass through the Fortress entrance. "At least I think they wouldn't. Can anyone without the Eagle vision do it?"

"No," he says, frown pulling at his lips. "Those without the second sight cannot."

"Do a lot of them make it to Master Assasin Rank?" I ask, cautiously. I feel like I'm treading on dangerous ground as I ask. Going by the way Altaïr’s frown deepens, I figure I just might be. "I figured it be hard but not impossible, right?"

"The training we go through to become a Master is...difficult," he says as we continue on to wherever it is we're going. Thankfully it's late now, the sun blocked out by dark clouds and a nice chill to the air as it blows. "Not everyone completes it and even less choose to follow that path."

"Why?"

"Because it will break you," he says, more serious than I've ever seen him. He veers off the path then, heading towards the building that the swirls sits above of. "Because _they_ will break you."

"Break you?" I ask as I move towards the ladder, one foot coming up to the first step and hand clutching the sides.

"To be a Master, a true Assassin, you must abandon all," he says, urging me up the ladder and following me up. "Hopes, beliefs, dreams, emotions, all of it must be abandoned or it will be ripped from you," he says as we reach the top. "Whether you choose to abandon it on your own or not, you will come to have nothing, be nothing. You will be stripped down to your baser instinct, turned into a weapon used to take the life of those that would see life enslaved.

"The trials to become a Master Assassin are not easy. But they will teach you to shut it all off. Emotions and thoughts, you will be taught to let it all bleed away and do only as you are instructed," he says, moving towards the swirl but not making a move to actually jump through. He seems distant, mind miles away as he says, "Those without the second sight to help guide them through it stand no hope of ever completing the trials."

"What happens to them?" I ask, unable to keep from asking. "The ones without the second sight?"

"They tend to become Informants," he says, turning towards the ladder just as Ken and Ezio haul themselves onto the roof. "Guards, Trainers, Rafiqs, Soldiers. They do whatever it is they can do for The Brotherhood. Being an Assassin isn't the only choice given. There are many others."

He shoots me a meaningful look then. One I don't get to look into as he turns his gaze back to Ezio.

"Did you accomplish what you set out to do?"

"I covered every inch of your fortress," Ezio says, casual as can be as they near us. "Much to Ken's protests and I found where the artifact is hidden. I just have not yet planned how I will get my hands on it."

"Will you still keep from me why it is you feel that Al Mualim should not be in possession of the treasure," he says and we freeze at his words, heads turning slowly to him as we realize he's figured out what we've—not so subtly—been hiding.

Not speaking of Al Mualim in Altaïr's presences has become a nonverbal agreement we've all strictly followed. So it's with some trepidation that we all watch him now. That's his Master after all. The man that all but raised him so his reaction could be bad.

_Very bad._

"The Apple," I begin, pausing when I realize I have no idea what to tell him. I turn to Ken for help, eyes pleading him for help but it's Ezio who speaks up.

"We need it to speak with Minerva," he says, casual as can be as he moves towards the swirl. "And I, for one, would rather speak to her as soon as we can than wait around for you to... _inherit_ the thing."

"It may prove to be a direct link to her," Ken says, backing Ezio up as he follows after him. He pauses next to me, shaking his head when Ezio just dives through the swirl with no warning. "I swear he's going to get us killed one day."

"What happened?" I ask, curious and in no hurry to head back.

"The idiot just walked around like nothing," Ken says, head still shaking in disapproval. "Granted he at least made sure to disguise himself—he took your clothes, Altaïr—but I don't think he realizes just how much trouble we would have gotten into if someone had realize we didn’t belong."

"You wouldn't have been killed," Altaïr reassures, horribly. "Anyone with second sight would have known you to be friends not threats. They might have interrogated you but you would have lived."

"Thanks?"

There's doubt all over Ken's face and I just laugh as I shove him towards the swirl.

"But did you die, though?"

With a roll of his eyes, Ken jumps through the swirl. I count to thirty before following after him, landing in the pillow pit on the other side.

"Well you lot are back early," Mother says as I haul myself out of the pit and up right. “Going by that dopey smile on your face, I’m guessing he’s back.”

“Mom,” I yelp, embarrassed just as Altaïr crashes through the swirl and into the pit.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she says as she lifts a box off the floor. “I don’t know what I was thinking, allowing you two to commandeer my attic,” she grumbles as she struggles a little under the weight of it. “If I had said no I could have saved myself the hassle of emptying this place out.”

I rush forward to take the box from her but Altaïr beats me to it. He carries the box as if it weighs nothing.

“Thank you, dear,” Mother says, turning to grab another box. “Jen, take that one please,” she says nodding towards another box as she begins to head downstairs.

I grab it without complaint, following after them as soon as I have it secure. It weighs a bit but it’s nothing I can’t handle as we make our way down to the living room and into the back yard.

A little shed sits in the spacious yard. Place there to temporarily store the things in the attic, it’s almost full. Though these are the last of the boxes so it matters little. Father is already there, shuffling the boxes around. We place them next to Mother once we reach it, leaving them to organize it as we make our way back inside.

It’s late out, dark already but the house is in no hurry to settle down for the night. Alexis sits in the living room, crackling at the antics of some actors on the television while Ken talks quietly with Ezio on one of the other couches.

“So what’s the plan for tonight?” Alexis asks when we take a seat next to him.

“I don’t know,” I tell him, grabbing my phone from the coffee table. I flip to through the notifications, nonchalantly, replying to some messages on Facebook on whim. “Anyone got any ideas?”

“We can finally explore Ezio’s world,” Ken offers up and Alexis groans.

“No,” he whines, slumping further into his seat. “When I said _‘what’s the plan,’_ I meant what are we doing that’s _fun_ tonight?”

“Like, going out?” Ken asks, struggling to accept the concept and I giggle behind my phone. He stares at Alexis, brows drawn together. “Why would we go out tonight? It’s _Monday_.”

“Exactly,” Alexis says, much to Ken confusion as he sits up. It’s then that I notice the way he’s dress, in jeans and a nice tee. He’s ready to head out, hat on his head and shoes on his feet. “It’s Monday and we have to properly drown our sorrows in booze.”

“What sorrows?” Ken asks, exasperated. “Then week just started. There’s nothing to be sorrowful about.”

“It’s free pool night at Oak Tree Lanes,” I mutter, interrupting them before they can continue to argue in circles. “I’d be up to a few games,” I say, making the decision for everyone in the room. “Get Altaïr and Ezio some era appropriate clothes. I’m going to go get ready.”

“On it.”

“Be ready in ten,” I call, making my way to my room. I don’t worry about how they might dress them. Especially since Mother bought clothes for them when it became apparent Ezio had nothing better to do than hang around in our world.

Once in my room, I peel the tunic and leggings off along with my boots. Exchanging them for a pair of high-waisted, blue jean shorts and a sleeveless, pink turtle neck, I tug on a pair of white converse. Dressed, I tug my hair into a pony tail and reapply eyeliner and mascara.

And that’s it, I’m good to go, not the least bit self-conscious about going to a bar without a face full of makeup. Bars just aren’t the place for that, contrary to popular belief. They’re a place to unwind and relax, so I don’t bust out the heels and foundation.

Dressed comfortably, I walk out of my room to find the boys waiting for me at the door.

“Who’s got DD,” I ask as I pocket my phone and wallet. The grin Alexis gives me lets me know the decision was made without me. “Fine,” I grumble, snatching the keys from his pocket by the lanyard. “But we’re taking your car.”

Piling into my brother’s 2005, Ford Mustang, we head off to—hopefully—have a night of fun.

The atmosphere in Oak Tree Lanes is calm, relaxing. Music pours out of the speaker in a hypnotizing beat while people talk over a beer and enjoy the night. We make our way to the back, crowding around an empty billiard table.

Swaying to the beat of the music, I let the tension bleed away. The words to the song fall off my lips easily as I sing along, while setting up the first game. Chalk and pool cues are passes around to the first players as the Bartender comes over to offer us drinks.

Not interested in drinking, I ignore her as I continue to sing, hips swaying and smirk on my lips when I catch men looking. Not that I’m interested but it boosts my confidence just the tiniest bit.

_Those aren’t the eyes I want watching, anyways._

A tab is open and drinks are passed around. None of us taking into consideration that two of our party probably have no business consuming our beer. At least, not until one of said two has his head in the porcelain throne, pucking his guts out.

“Dumb ass,” I mutter, taking a swing of Alexis’ beer. Altaïr had—smartly—refused to drink while Ezio had snatched Ken’s beer before he could so much as sipped it and downed it in one go. Leaving Kenny without a drink and Ezio sick.

It serves him right, in my opinion.

“Guess that means Ken’ll be driving,” Alexis says, lining up his shot and missing the pocket by only a hair’s breath. “I doubt he’ll want to drink now,” he says, no malice in his voice as he takes his own swing of beer. “Your turn.”

“Order me something else then,” I tell him as I lean down, bending over the table to line up my shot. “I fucking hate 805,” I say as I take the shot. The eight ball sinks into the pocket with a _clank_ and I grin as I win the game. “Smirnoff Green Apple with some Caramel if they have it.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Alexis’ snarks even though he moves to order my drink. I giggle after him, shaking my head fondly before turning to Altaïr.

“Think you got the hang of it?” I ask as I hold Alexis’ abandoned pool cue out to him. Altaïr nods as he takes it, watching me as I rack the balls. “Just make all your balls before your opponent without making the black one until all of yours are gone. It’s simple.”

“I think I understand,” Altaïr says, nonchalantly as I move to break. “Since you did not make anything, it is my turn, right?”

“Yup, you can go for any of them,” I tell him as I take another swing of Alexis’ beer, grimacing at the taste. “Whatever you make decides which balls belongs to who.”

“Got it,” he says, lining up his shot just as Alexis returns.

“No Smirnoff but they had Blue Moon,” he says as Altaïr shots. The ball sinks into the pocket expertly and Alexis whistles. “Damn, we might have a natural here.”

I laugh as I take the beer from him, chugging a good portion of it before saying, “Good, I’m tired of wiping the floor with you losers anyways. Finally, a real challenge.”

All Alexis does is shove me as Altaïr takes his second shot, only just missing the pocket. Placing the beer down, I circle the table, looking for the best shot.  With nothing open I bank the ball and hope for the best.

It’s no real surprise when I make nothing.

“Damn, Jen, throwing the game already?” Alexis mocks and I just flip him the bird as I take another drink. The beer is bitter, thick on my tongue, and foul but I drink it anyways. Addicted to the taste of it even though beer is never my first choice.

Altaïr makes two more shots, fumbling on the third and I finally get my chance. It’s a five ball run before I miss my shot, putting me in the lead by only two balls. Altaïr catches up instantly, even gaining a one ball advantage of his own before it’s my turn again.

“This is intense,” Alexis mutters, as he takes in the almost empty table. “Are you sure you haven’t played before Altaïr?”

“Never,” Altaïr says as I take my shots, bringing us to a tie. “But it is similar to throwing a knife,” he says as he lines up his shot. “You aim for your target and shoot,” he says as he takes the shot, sinking the ball straight in. “You calculate the force of the wind and the distance and adjust accordingly,” he mutters as he banks the eight ball in with no difficulty, winning the game.

“Damn,” Alexis says, whistling again. “Remind me never to challenge you to game of, well, anything.”

“Guys,” Ken mutters, rejoining us. He nervously tugs at his hair as he says, “Ezio isn’t doing too good and I think it’d be best if we leave.”

“How bad is it?” I asks as I place the pool cue on the table and down the rest of my beer.

“Seems to mainly be discomfort,” Ken says while Alexis moves to close our tab. “He’s stopped vomiting and there didn’t seem to be any blood. Still, I think your mom should take a look at him.”

“She’s going to be pissed.”


	19. Ch 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's shorter than normal, no where near the four thousand mark, but it's early! That should count for something, right?

 

"I don't know what I was thinking, letting you lot out of this house. For goodness sake, if you can't be responsible  _here,_ in the safety of your own world, how am I supposed to trust you  _not_  to get yourself get killed in theirs? Not that he's going to die but honestly? You let him drink  _beer_? Of all things? It is made up of nothing but chemicals! I'm surprised all he did was throw up!"

Mother's yells resonant around the room and we all shrink into the couches, tails metaphorically tucked between our tails. Well, all except for me, of course, because I refuse to take the blame for something that really isn't my fault.

"He wasn't supposed to drink it," I grumble from the love-seat, arms crossed over my chest in annoyance. "He just chugged Ken's beer without asking. I say it's his own god damn fault for being such an idiot," I rant, ignoring the wide eyes that turn to me. They're definitely questioning my sanity. "I speak for everyone when I promise you  _we_ won't be  _that_  stupid."

"He's your responsibility when he's in our world," Mother counters as she stands before me, hands on her hips. The fire in her eyes is scary but I meet her gaze head on. "If you haven't explained to him in all this time that he  _can't_ eat our food then how can I trust you'll be responsible enough in theirs?"

"We  _did_ tell him," I say, not backing down. "But let's face it, Ezio's the irresponsible one. Ken's already told him that he's not allowed to eating anything in our world because it's loaded with shit his body isn't use to digesting. But the idiot dove for the beer anyways. You can hardly blame us for that."

Mother's stare pins me to the couch but I don't cower away from it. Continuing to hold her gaze, I wait for her to speak again but she doesn't. She just nods her head slowly before spinning on her heel, the pale blue skirt of her dress whipping angrily around her legs.

"Fine," she calls as she grabs her tan Swing Coat from the back of the recliner. Shrugging it on angrily, she fixes us each with a harsh look. "I expect this to be the last  _'food poisoning'_ incident, or so help me every single one of you will be grounded till Christmas."

With that, she tears out of the house. Leaving so fast I don't have a chance to remind her that we're all actually full grown adults. I don't even get the chance to point out that Ezio, Altaïr, and Ken aren't her children and she really has no authority to ground them.

We sit in silence after she leaves, all struggling to process what we've heard. With a shrug I lean back into the love-seat, sinking into it.

"Well, tonight was a bust," I grumble, shooting a quick glare at Ezio. He's sprawled across the couch, skin sickly pale. He'd collapsed there just moments after Mother brought into the room and started yelling. Uncaring that Ken was already sitting there, he'd simply laid his head in Ken's lap, moaning pitifully. Ken didn't have it in him to push the other man away so there's a bucket at his feet, ready in case it's need, while he carefully wipes the sweat from Ezio's brow. "Anyone want to watch a movie?"

"It's late," Alexis points out from his seat on the recliner. I just shrug. Grabbing the control from the coffee table, I turn on the television. "You guys may be a bunch of night owls but I have class tomorrow," he says as he stands. "I'll see you guys in the morning."

With that he leaves, a yawn falling from his lips as he does. With no protest from Ken, I put on a random movie. An action one since I don't think anyone would actually be up for a horror one at the moment. Leaning back, legs casually thrown over Altaïr's thighs, I watch as Liam Neeson rushes to save his daughter.

If the others are interested in the movie or not, I don't care. Though I figure Ezio isn't paying much attention to it since his eyes are closed. He's probably already dead to the world. I, myself, watch the movie through half closed eyes, tempted to follow his lead but fighting against the sleep tugging my eyelids down. Though I must have dozed off at some point because, next thing I know, I'm in bed.

Turning, I toss a leg over Altaïr and snuggle into his side, uncaring of anything else but getting comfortable. The arm around my waist pulls me closer and I hum contently as the world melts away.

As it shifts to black and I find myself standing amongst the flames.

Watching as the world burns.

~oOo~

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Ken asks for the hundredth time. For the hundredth time, I ignore him as I stand in front of a mirror, carefully pining my hair in place. Once satisfied, I step back and pat down the skirt of my dress. "Jen?"

The dress is simple, lightweight and beautiful in it's pale blue and white color scheme. There's a slight corset to the dress but I've opted to keep it loose. It's pulled tight enough to be form fitting before tapering off into a long flowing skirt that only just touches the floor. All in all, it's a pretty dress, gorgeous with it's illusion neckline and angel sleeves.

My hairdo is as simple as the dress, the sides loosely pined back while the rest of it hangs freely in loose curls.

"Would you stop making love to yourself through the mirror," Ken huffs, pulling me from my admiring as I turn to look at him. He wears a long sleeves, white shirt under a dark green doublet with gold accents and a thick leather belt on top of that. "We look ridiculous."

" _You_ look ridiculous," I tell him as I step back towards the mirror. Ignoring his indignant swank, I apply a light layer of eyeliner and mascara. "I look amazing," I tell him even though he has a point. Dressed as we are, we might as well be going trick or treating. "Would you do me? I'd do me."

"Silence of the Lambs?"

"Family guy actually. Silence of the Lambs uses fuck," I correct Ken as I finally pull away from the mirror and head out of the room. "This is so going to be my Halloween costume," I tell Ken as I spin, the skirt flaring out freely and revealing my white Mary Jane shoes. With a laugh, I stop, enjoying the feeling of the skirt swishing around my legs. "I'll be a Renaissance Princess this year."

"But Jen," Ken gasps, faking astonishment as he looks me over from head to toe. "It's not the least bit slutty! Everyone knows Halloween is the one night a year a girl can dress like a total slut."

"Mean Girls?"

"Uh-huh," Ken mumbles as we make our way up the stairs and towards the attic. Once inside my eyes automatically search out the timer, reading the bright red numbers on it. "It won't be Halloween if you don't dress slutty."

_Five more minutes._

"Don't worry, I'll tighten the corset, cut the skirt two inches from my crotch, and pair it with stockings and heels," I reassure him as I grab a travel pack. I won't, of course, the dress is too beautiful to be cut up. "Now then, for the last time. There's nothing to worry about," I tell him, referring to his previous question as he grabs two oxygen tanks and straps one to my pack. "We're significantly more prepared than we were on our first trip to Altaïr's time and we survived  _that_."

"By sheer dumb luck," Ken mumbles as he grabs his own travel pack. Strapping an oxygen tank to that, he looks wearily down at himself. "Do I really look ridiculous?" he asks as he pulls on the hem of his doublet.

"You look fine, darling," Mother answers, appearing at the top of the stairs.

"Mom," I call, surprised to see her up after she's worked all night. "You should be sleeping," I scold but she waves me off with a wave of her hand even as she stifles a yawn. Her eyes are puffy, swollen from lack of sleep but she still carries a mug of coffee as she moves towards the computers. "Mom, seriously, go to bed. We'll be fine."

"Someone needs to keep watch," she says as she takes a seat, dropping heavily onto the pad chair in front of the computers. "This will be the first time you travel to Ezio's time," she explains, taking a long drink of her coffee. "I'll be here in case anything goes wrong."

"You're tired, mom," I remind her as I move to stand in back of her. Pulling her hair free of it's messy but tight bun, I comb my fingers through it. "You need to be at the top of your game in case something does happen, so go sleep. Relax. Ezio's made the jump a number of times already and he hasn't gotten hurt. Plus he's waiting for us on the other side."

"I will," Mother says, slumping into the seat. "But  _after_ you make the jump."

They'll be no arguing with her. She'll stay no matter what I say so I move away from her without another word.

"It's time," Ken says, joining me at the red swirl just as the timer chimes. He hands me my recording glasses and I put them on as he disappears through the swirl. "See you on the other side."

I count to thirty slowly. The numbers nothing more than a whisper on my lips as I ignore the increasing speed of my heart. Sure, I've done this before but it's always a rush. I'm basically taking a three stories plunge after all.

When the number thirty falls from my lips, inaudible to anyone but me, I reach out, eyes closed, as the swirl sucks me in and spits me out five hundred years into the past.

For one brief second I stop, suspended in air before gravity kicks back in, dragging me back to earth. I open my eyes as I begin to fall, watching clear blue skies as my hair and dress whip violently around me for all of five seconds.

The hay envelopes me in the blink of an eye, softly stopping my descent as the cart absorbs the shock of impact. I lay there for a bit, willing my heart to slow and struggling to take calm, deep breathes. Searching hands pull me from the cart, gently tugging me free of the hay.

"We made it," Ken says, hands on my sides as he lifts me from the cart. Placing me on my feet he moves to brush the hay from my clothes. "Ezio says we shouldn't expect any trouble. He told his uncle we'll be visiting for a few days."

"At least this time we won't have to pretend to be something we're not," I mumble as my eyes roam the great city of  _Monteriggioni._ "Trying to fool Al Mualim into thinking I actually want to join his brotherhood and not run him through with the first pointy thing I can get my hands on is harder than I thought it would be."

It's light out, the sun sitting bright and heavy on the horizon, hours away from sunset. Yet the city is dark, the walls and clustered buildings casting long shadows across the ground. It gives the place a dangerous air. One I know it deserves for altogether different reasons.

_This is an Assassin stronghold after all._

"That's only because you hate his guts," Ken says, drawing my gaze back to him. He's also gazing out at the city, a slight look of awe on his face. Our conversation is mostly background noise to both of us. The words falling from our lips are mostly said so we won't simply be standing there, gawking. "Though I do suggested that your weapon of choice be a little more thought out before you end up stabbing him with a fork."

_The city truly is beautiful._

"I was thinking something more along the lines of a pencil actually," I joke, dodging when Ken's arm strikes out to swat the back of my head. "Well then, Ezio," I say, finally acknowledging the man. He leans against the brick walls of the Auditore Villa, allowing us the time we need to adjust. "We're here. Now what?"

"You are asking me?" he questions, pushing away from the wall. "You lot were the ones who wanted to come. God only knows what for."

"We have to make sure the swirl is secure," Ken says, eyes going up. I follow his gaze, eyes immediately locking on it. "There wasn't much to worry about when it came to Altaïr's swirl. It at least blended in with the sky during the day but that's red," Ken says, pointing towards the swirl. "It's an eye-catching color. I'm amazed no one's brought it up yet."

"There have been inquiries," Ezio admits, slightly hesitant as he looks up as well. "But Uncle Mario told everyone to mind their own business and stop asking questions."

"And they did?" I ask, doubtful as I turn to look back out at the city and it's many residents.

"Uncle Mario is a very respected and trusted individual," Ezio says with a shrug, hand coming up to run through his hair. "This is his city,  _his Assassins_. They trust him above all else," he continues, looking away from the swirl and starting towards the door to the Villa. "Thus, if he tells you that it's being dealt with and to ignore the bright red eyesore in the sky, then you do just that."

"Your uncle is a powerful man," Ken mutters, slightly unnerved as we follow after him and into the big building. "I'd hate to get on his bad side."

"You'd end up dead if you did," I tease as we pass under the arch way and into the foyer of the Villa. It's plain, empty expect for a few plants, a large chandelier, and a grand staircase. All in all it's almost an exact replica of the game. "Did you kill this one too?"

The glare Ezio sends my way makes me giggle. It doesn't inspire the sense of fear it probably should have, which only makes it funnier.

And that's how Claudia finds us.

Me laughing like an idiot, Ezio looking like he's seconds away from throttling me, and Ken shaking his head in exasperation.

"What is this, brother of mine?" she asks, looking us over curiously. I don't miss the way her eyes linger on Ken and my next giggles aren't related to Ezio's kitten glare. "Guest so late in the day?"

"Just visitors, Claudia," Ezio says between gritted teeth. "This is Jennifer and Kenny, travelers from the North and close friends of mine. They will be staying with us for a few days."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jennifer," Claudia says, hand coming up to grasp my shoulders. For half a second I have no idea what she's doing, at least until she leans in and kiss the air on both sides of my face. Right, people actually have greeting procedures here.

"Like, likewise, Claudia," I stutter, mimicking her so I won't seem rude. Ezio shoots me a smug grin as he sees me flounder. I'm not used to any type of greeting that goes beyond a simple hand shake but if Claudia takes my hesitancy as rudeness she says nothing of it. "And please call me Jen. Everyone does."

"As you wish," she says as she pulls back. Her hands lingering on my shoulders for just a second too long before they drop. Her eyes continue to study me though. What she's looking for, I'm not sure but I resolve to think nothing of it as she moves to greet Ken. "It is nice to meet you as well, Kenny."

"Please call me Ken," he says bowing.

They bow and curtsy in perfect union, cluing me in to the fact that Ken has definitely been brushing up on his Renaissance manners. If his bow itself is perfect though, I'm not sure but it brings a giggle to Claudia's lips and I figure it couldn't have been too off point.

"What is it with you two and shortening your names," Claudia asks as she lowers the skirt of her dress, eyes still on Ken. There's a small smile on her lips, one Ken easily matches as he straightens up.

"It's custom where we come from to make your name as short as possible to not waste your time and breath," Ken says, light blush coming too his cheeks as he runs his gloved hand through his hair. "Though, in all honestly, it's 'cause we're all a bunch of lazy creatures who can't be bothered with pronouncing every syllable in one's name."

"In that case call me Clau," she says, an answering blush raising to her cheeks. "I would hate to make you break in tradition."

" _Dia_ would suit you much better, M'lady." Ken says, drawing an appreciative whistle from me and a grunt from Ezio. "For you are as radiant as a sunny day."

_Who knew the boy had it in him?_

"Oh my," Claudia gasps, hand coming up to shield her mouth even though we can all see the wide smile curling the corner of her lips.

"Okay," Ezio all but shouts, breaking the moment as he shoves himself in between Ken and Claudia. "It is late and you two have travel from afar. You must be tired," Ezio says, hands going to Ken’s shoulders as he begins to push him towards the stairs. "Come Jen, I will show you to your rooms."

"Will you need help settling in?" Claudia asks, eyes still glued on Ken and blush still on her cheeks. "I can give you a tour of the Villa if my brother hasn't already."

"That won't be necessary, Claudia," Ezio says quickly, as he grabs my arm and drags me up the stairs as well. "I will take care of it, you go back to your bookkeeping."

He leads us away before Claudia can respond and I snicker as I catch sight of the heavy blush on Ken's face. Nobody says anything though. Not until Ezio takes us to an empty room. He collapses onto the bed as soon as the door is closed.

"My sister is definitely interested in you."

His words are muffled by the sheets but we both still hear it as clear as day. Ken sputters, both nervous at Ezio's reaction and embarrassed by the whole thing. I just laugh at him as I take a seat on the bed.

"No way," Ken denies as he slumps into a nearby chair. "She's too young."

"She's twenty-seven actually," I correct as I slip my pack from my shoulders and unstrap the oxygen tank. Connecting the mask to it, I place it over my face. "She's only two years younger than Ezio,  _but_ she's two years older than you."

"Still, no," Ken says as he follows my lead and sets up his own oxygen mask. " _I_  will not participate in this star cross lover fiasco you and Altaïr have going on," he grumbles as he passes the mask to Ezio first. "One of us taking a one way trip to HeartBreakTopia is enough."

"What makes you think I'll get my heart broken?" I ask, slightly outrage before I realize that that really isn't the point I should be focusing on. "Wait a minute! Who ever said I loved him?"

"You've loved him since you were fourteen," Ken says, voice oddly gentle as he takes the mask back from Ezio.

_I can't deny that._

"It might not end badly," I mumble, eyes going down to stare at my feet.

"There isn't any way it  _won't_."


	20. Ch 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, they go to Ezio's world.

 

_(Jen’s POV)_

“It’s almost completely the same as the game,” I mumble as we make our way down the halls of the Villa. True to his words to Claudia, Ezio is taking us on a tour. I trail after him as he leads us around, going on and on about the Villa’s history and creation. “It’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” Ken asks over his shoulder, distracted as he walks by Ezio’s side. He’s like a sponge, soaking up all of Ezio’s words and only paying me the minimal amount of attention needed to appear polite.

“Dragons,” I mutter, testing to see just how much attention is on me. Ken just hums, eyes glued on whatever Ezio is going on about now. Though I doubt the shiny, fragile vase they stand in front of is all that interesting to learn about, I stay clear of it.

Boring as it may appear, I’m sure it’s equally as expensive. It holds all of Ken’s attention, though, just as Ken holds all of Ezio’s attention. He eagerly devours all the information Ezio just as eagerly feeds him. They’re both so focused on each other that the little devil on my shoulder stirs.

_The window of Opportunity is open._

And I don’t fight the idea.

Smirk in place, I begin to trail farther and farther behind as we continue on the tour. Reducing my speed until they turn a corner and are completely out of sight. It’s then that I make my move. Turning back around, I make my way towards the Villa’s entrance.

_Adventure here I come!_

The floor plan is simple enough that I have no trouble finding my way out. I bask in the feel of the wind on my face as I step outside. The Villa is bit stuffy with the day being a little on the hot side. So I soak up the fresh breeze as I make my way towards the stairs, descending into the city without looking back.

It’s a sight to see, I’ll give it that. Almost completely restored by Ezio’s efforts, it’s teeming with tourist. Even so late in the day men, women, and children still walk the streets. I don’t stand out as I walk further into the city, blending in perfectly with my period correct clothing.

Stalls line the main street—the one that leads directly to the city gates. It’s full of people puttering about and no one so much as looks in my direction. There’s a huge smile on my face as I take in all the shops. It seems that there’s more than just Blacksmiths, Tailors, and Art merchants. There’s also little stalls full of Knickknacks and some full of treats and Merchants yelling out advertisements.

Women dressed in beautiful dresses bustle from stall to stall some with equally well-dressed men at their sides or little ones trailing behind and hanging off their hips. It doesn’t surprise me though when a scantily dressed woman appears in the mist of the well-dressed crowd.

Barefoot and skimpy, she makes her way through the crowd with her head held high. What does surprise me is that she draws less stares than I figured she would as she sashays down the street, graceful and seductive. Most of the stares she gets are from lustful men which she winks at as she passed them.

The Merchants don’t bother to even look her way, ignoring her as much as she is ignoring them. I’d figured they’d chase her away. Accuse her of unsettling their clients with her distasteful occupation but instead one merchant goes as far as to offer her a treat.

The woman takes it with a grin. Popping the delicacy into her mouth as she flips a coin to the merchant before continuing on her way. She seems almost respected amongst the citizens of the city, and the tourist?

Well, they pay her no mind.

How is it that courtesan isn’t being shamed? Especially given our current time period. 

I file that away to ask Ezio about later.

Turing my attention back to the stalls, I near one. Eyes roaming over the carefully made pottery, I keep my hands clasped behind my back as a reminder not to grab anything lest I break it.

“Yes, yes that is a beautiful one,” the merchant says as he catches me staring at a small, reddish vase. He’s an older man with hair more on the gray side than brown but no less able. Even his eyebrows have lost their color as they rest, big and bushy, over his eyes. He’s a few years away from cute little Pawpaw, but well on his way already.

“My son’s work. A skilled boy, he is. Just took on the craft a few months back and already out doing his father,” he prattles, pride in his voice on as he lifts the small vase and holds it out to me. “20 Florin.”

“Oh, um, no thank you,” I mumble as I back away, eyes on the man. “I wasn’t really interested but thank you for showing it to me.”

“Here, here. Take a closer look,” the man insists, shoving the vase into my arms. Unprepared for it, I fumble the vase. It slips from my fingers, crashing onto the cobblestone floor and shattering instantly. “My Vase!”

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” I apologizes, hands still held out to catch the vase. The man takes them into his. Long, callous fingers wrap around my wrist as he jerks me to him.

“You will pay for that,” he snarls, anger sketched into every line of his face. (I take back the Pawpaw thing. This man is definitely not Pawpaw Material.) I don’t try to break his grip. Something tells me he’ll only get angrier at me if I did, so instead I plant me feet firmly into the ground so he can’t pull my away from the crowed street.

It’s better to be near witnesses when facing down an angry person.

“I, ah, I can’t,” I tell the man, looking him straight in the eye. It takes everything I have not to fight his grip but I keep my face calm and my breathing even.

“What do you mean you cannot?” the man yells, almost foaming at the mouth at my refusal to hand over money. Hands going to my biceps, he beings to shake me in anger. “You can and you will.”

“I, I don’t have any money,” I admit, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. He stops shaking me then, but still keeps his grip on me. “I wasn’t planning on buying anything.”

“Then why on God’s green earth are you at the market?” the man yells, exasperation in his voice as he looks at me like I must be a special kind of stupid. I shrug as best as I can with my arms still caught in his grip. “No matter,” he says, looking around at the crowd we’ve manage to attract in such little time. “There are other ways for a woman to pay her dues.”

“Excuse me!” I ask, jerking back but the old man keeps his grip. “You better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking,” I growl as I finally being to try to break his grip but he’s stronger than I would have thought. “Let go of me.”

“No,” the man tells me as he begins to drag me away from the stall with strength I wouldn’t have guest at. “Now tell me where you are staying so I can tell your husband that his wife has managed to acquire a debt that he will need to pay or I will take you to the guards.”

_Oh. So it wasn’t what I was thinking._

I falter at his word. No longer struggling, he manages to pull me a way down the street.

“I don’t have a husband,” I admit causing him to pause and look back at me in slight shock. His gaze drops down for second before panning back up.

“Really?” he asks before shaking his head quickly. “No matter then,” he says, continuing to drag me down the street. “I hope you are thinking of what you will tell your father then. He will not be pleased to know you are running around causing trouble. I am sure you will be in for an earful.”

“My father isn’t in town.”

“Your brother then.”

“He’s not here either.”

“Then who is in charge of you?” the man asks, genuinely confused as he turns back to me. “Are you a courtesan?” he asks because, apparently, either a man is in charge of you or you’re a whore in this period. “You are obviously not a nun,” he deducts as he eyes my clothing. “Or at least I have not yet met one to dress as you do.”

“I will have you know that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” I yell at him, catching him off guard enough to wretch my arm away from him.

“Of course you can,” a voice says from behind me, all condescending and doubtful. Blush burning a path across my face, I turn to give the eavesdropper a piece of my mind only to find myself dwarf by hulking muscles and dark clothes. “Which is why you now find yourself in this situation, little one.”

“Uncle Mario,” I gasp out before I can think better of it.

“Uncle?” The man repeats, shocked before dread replaces the anger on his face. “I, I am so sorry, Mister Auditore,” the man begins, slight panic in his voice as he clasps his hands nervously together. “I did not realize this was your niece. I meant no disrespect but the girl broke a vase and I was only seeking recompensation—”

“It is fine, my friend,” Uncle Mario says, hand going into his pocket. Pulling out a few coins he drops the coins into the man’s hands. If it’s the correct amount of coins or not, the man says nothing as he clasps them in his now trembling hands “There, her debts are paid and all is well, yes?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course, Mister Auditore.”

“Good then, if you will excuse us, I will have a few words with my…niece,” he says and the old man is too concerned with high tailing it away from us to notice Uncle’s Mario pause.

“I, uh, I can explain,” I mutter once the old man is out of ear shot. Uncle Mario simply quirks a brow, lips pulling into a smirk.

“I am sure you can,” he says, doubt in his voice. “But there is no need for it,” he says, motioning for me to follow after him as he begins to walk away. It’s a no brainer that he’s taking me back to the Villa. “Altaïr has already told me so much about you.”

“What…what are you talking about?” I ask, wondering when Altaïr had found the time to take a detour and make a pit stop to gossip with Uncle Mario.

“The Codex,” he says by way of explanation as we begin to climb the stairs. Hand gliding over the railing, he says, “You, little one, have caused such a stir with your habit for jumping through time that you’ve started to appear in them.”

“I…I what?” I ask, thoroughly confused. He knows more than I ever planned on telling him. Hell, he might even know more than I do at this point and it leaves me with no idea on how I should deal with this unexpected situation.

~oOo~

_(Ken POV)_

The house is quiet, contrasting greatly with the ruckus going on outside as city continues to bustle late into the day. The thick walls drown out most of the noise, leaving an eerie silence as Ezio leads us towards the stairs. The heels of his boot clank loudly against the marble floor.

My own footsteps sound quieter as I trail behind him, dazed as I taken in the beauty of Mario’s— _Uncle Mario,_ as he’s insisted I call him—home. It’s breath taking. Arch ways expertly crafted, stunningly adorned, and that chandelier.

_Mrs. Hernandez’s chandelier has nothing on it._

The smile on my lips is all adoring as I trail my eyes all over the great craftwork of the Villa. Masyaf may be striking in it’s own historic way but Monteriggioni is _stunning._ Completely repaired and bustling with tourist, it has Masyaf beat by miles.

We make our way up the stairs to the second floor of the Villa in silence, Ezio still pondering over his conversation with Claudia, and I too dazed to speak. It’s why I don’t realize where we’re headed until we reach it.

Ezio doesn’t even bother to knock. He just pushes the wooden door open, paying the praying women inside little mind. He ignores her completely as he heads towards the back of the room and places a handful of feathers into a chest as I stand awkwardly by the door.

She ignores him as well.

His mother is too lost in her grief to see the look on his face as he is once again ignored. It’s a pain all too familiar to me. I know the pain of being ignored by the people who are supposed to care for you all too well. We may be over the age limit to be doted on like children but being ignored by your parents will always hurt.

Ezio says nothing as he moves to exit the room, assuming that she won’t say anything this time either, except she does.

“Who are you?”

Brown eyes snap to me, dazed. Her head tilts to the side, confused at my presence in her private rooms.

“Kenny, Kenny Chase,” I tell her, bowing politely. I’d offer her a hand, but she’s still kneeling, hands clasped together in pray. She looks me over as she pushes herself to her feet. Ezio moves to her side the moment he sees her begin to move.

Working through his surprise, he helps her up and then leads her to sit on the chest at the foot of the bed. All the while her eyes don’t leave me. They’re train on me and I shuffle nervously under the weight of her stare.

“You are not from here,” she says, scaring me for a second before I realize she couldn’t possibly be talking about me not being from her universe. It doesn’t stop the mini-heart attack from appearing at the thought of being discovered though.

“No, madam,” I tell her, a smile coming to my lips as I remember my back story. “I’m a tourist from England. I was in San Gimignano when I ran into your son here and he invited me to see the beauty of Monteriggioni.”

“I bet he did,” she says, sarcasm in her voice that leaves me confused as her eyes roam over me from head to toe. Ezio seems to understand what she’s hinting at as he coughs awkwardly into his hand. It doesn’t hide the smile that come to his face, though, as his mother finally shows interest in something other than her prayers. “And just how are you finding Monteriggioni?”

“It’s beautiful,” I answer truthfully, smile growing. “What with the renovations your son has worked so hard to afford, this place is a definitely worth the trip.”

“Renovations?” Maria asks, looking up at Ezio in confusion.

“You have not left your rooms in a long while, mother,” Ezio says by way of explanation, a slight bitterness to his voice that has Maria wincing. I shoot him a look that screams _‘back off’_ and he winces as he realizes he probably shouldn’t have said that.

“I’ve…been busy.”

“Is that so?” I asks, hoping to diffuse the tension I can see growing. Jumping head first into something I’m not too sure about, I say, “Now that is not right. If you are not busy at the moment Madam, then maybe you can join Ezio, Jen, and I on our tour?”

“That…That would be nice,” she whispers, raising unsteadily to her feet. Once again Ezio is there to help her gain her footing. Helpful and strong, he links her arm through his when she’s standing. There’s an adoring smile on his face as he looks down at the woman who gave him life.

The smile she gives then, though shaky and slightly pained, is the most beautiful thing in Monteriggioni. Nothing else compares to it as Ezio leads us around the Villa because that one lone smile signifies hope.

And hope is nothing if not beautiful.

“Wait,” I mumble as we tour through the gardens. Looking around I feel dread pool in my stomach as I ask, “Where’s Jen?”

_God damn that girl._

~oOo~

_(Jen’s POV)_

“It is funny, really,” Uncle Mario says, eyes going up to look at the Villa. “For years, I knew every word written on those pages like the back of my hand. I could recite them with my eyes closed—having them hung on the wall of your office does that to you. Until a few days ago I knew every word written on those pages.

“But now I do not,” he says, eyes going to me. He watches me with something akin to awe as we go. “I watched them change, you know. Watched as the letters twisted and twirled. One by one, changing until a page detailing an important contract turned into the words of you,” he explains, head tilting as he tries to figure it out. “Of your adventures, your determination, your courage. They turned into words so poetic I felt no remorse over the words lost to me.”

“Ah, uh, thank you?” I say for lack of anything better to say as my cheeks burn in embarrassment. “But I think you got the wrong girl,” I tell him, because Altaïr could have written about Maria just as easily as he could have written about me. “You must be talking about his wife, Maria.”

Courageous?

Determined?

Adventurous?

It has to be Maria _._

_The most adventurous thing I’ve done is sleep in 1191 Masyaf._

“No, I know of Maria,” he says, gaze going back to the front as we reach the top of the stairs. “He wrote of her, before. She was a great woman, smart, skilled, fast. Probably the only woman who could match his own talents. It is such a shame that he lost her when he did. I always wonder what would have happened if she had been there when Abbas tore apart the Brotherhood.”

“He probably would have gone back sooner,” I whisper, eyes glued to the floor as I shuffle behind Uncle Mario. “With her strength and support he might not have gone into exile as long as he did.”

“Perhaps.”

We walk in silence from then on. Neither one of us having anything to add to our weird conversation. That is until we walk into the Villa and Uncle Mario leads me to his office.

“Can I read them?” I ask, eyes roaming over the codex pages. They’re not written in English, of course but I pray and hope this whole “no language barrier” thing will let me understand the words written on the pages.

“I would not suggest reading the ones on the wall,” Uncle Mario says, walking behind his desk and rummaging through the drawers. “They are written in coding I would not assume you would be able to decipher. But these,” he continues, pulling a stack of papers from a drawer and setting them on the table, “are the decoded copies.”

Grabbing one off the top of the stack, I focus hard on the words, willing them to become legible. But they don’t. They words scrawled across the pages remain as Italian as when they were written. I recognize a few words here and there due to their similarity to Spanish but other than that I can’t make sense of what is written.

“It was worth a shot,” I mumble, placing the page back on the pile. With a deep, defeated sigh, I turn back to the wall. Eyes roaming over the Codex pages, I wonder at the secrets hidden in them. Uncle Mario spoke of an adventure.

One that certainly hasn’t happened yet—in my opinion. So does this mean that, on these pages, written in Altaïr’s scrawling letters, are the details of the days to come? And, if so, how far do they go? Days, months, years?

Do they reveal the end?

Did we make?

Did we close the swirls and say goodbye?

Or did fail?  

_Did they stay open? Will the Solar Flares tear out world to shreds?_

“You cannot read them.” Uncle Mario guesses at as I continue to gaze at the wall and make no move to devour the information on the pages. “Altaïr did mention a language barrier,” Uncle Mario admits, moving back around the desk to stand at my side. “He wrote about how you all could speak in any tongue and understand them as well but written words were above you. If you want, I can have the pages translated into your native tongue.”

“It would be that easy?” I ask, doubtful as I turn my gaze back to him. Uncle Mario just shoots me a big smile as he lifts his arms to signal all around us.

“There are tourist crawling all over this place,” he says, laugh in his voice as he gestures towards the city outside the villa. “It should not be hard to find a literate Englishman amongst them,” he crackles, hand coming down to pat my shoulder in reassurance. “And if really does turn out to be more difficult than I imagine then we can always have someone read the pages to you.”

“True,” I agree smile coming to my face as look at wall again. “I just hope I end up liking what’s written on those pages.”

“I cannot promise you that will be the case,” Uncle Mario says, smile slowly slipping from his lips. “Just know that, as time passes, the words on the pages changes. Altaïr has wrote of your death just as often as he has written of your disappearance. It seems as if the past just won’t stay put. I am sure you are to thank for that though.”

“I died!” I gasp, the rest of his words going over my head as I lock onto that tiny detail. “What? When? Where? Why?” I ask, shooting question after question at him as I grab him by his coat. “How do I die?”

“In many different ways,” he says, shrugging. “You do not stay dead though,” he continues in a horrible attempt to reassure me that everything will be fine. “You never do. I told you, the words always change.”

“The butterfly effect,” I mutter, releasing him and beginning to pace around the room. “It has to be the Butterfly effect. How often do the words change?”

“Every few days, sometimes every day, and others times multiple times throughout the day,” he says, watching me pace. “There were a few days there that the words did not change. The pages during that time spoke of your disappearance and Altaïr’s inability to find you. I figured you would stay gone then but three days later I woke to find those words gone.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Three or four days ago.”

“And how long have the words been changing?”

“For the better part of a month. I would say twenty days at the least.”

“It’s every time you jump through the swirl,” Ken says from the doorway, appearing just when I need him most. He looks a little haggard as he steps through the door with Ezio trailing behind him. “Interacting with Altaïr’s world changes the words on those page. As does leaving it,” he explains, having heard enough to understand what we’re talking about he walks right up to the wall and studies the pages. “You’re disappearances and deaths are caused by the state in which you leave it.

“Leave during a dangerous time and Altaïr’s world will have no choice but to kill you off to keep itself stabilized. We affect his world more than you realize,” he says, turning back to me with a glare on his face. “Now then, mind explaining to me why you ran off,” he asks, cutting his explanation short as he glares daggers at me. “Do you realize how worried you had us, or were you too engrossed in you selfish desire for adventure to realized we’d be concerned about you disappearing into thin air?”

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, cowering under his gaze but if he accepts the apology, I figure he doesn’t as he continues to glare at me before turning his attention to Uncle Mario.

“No need to worry about finding someone to translate the pages,” he says, glare no longer in place but no less angry. “I can do it myself if you’re willing to lend me the pages.”

“Of course, my boy,” Uncle Mario says, all happy and cheerful as he scoops the papers off his desk and hands them to him. “I only ask that you take care of them.”

“Of course,” Ken agrees, one hand going out to grab the papers while the other wraps around my arm and begin to tug me out of the room. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to scold this idiot in privacy.”

“Ken, I’m sorry,” I wail as he drags out of the room and down the hall.

Behind us, Ezio crackles, loud and slightly hysterical before he rushes after us. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are. Two years, twenty chapters, and approximately 100,000 words later. I love you guys. I really do, without your support and encouragement I wouldn't be writting right now so I just want to say thank you too all of you who have read, kudo-ed, commented, and bookmarks. Your love keeps me writing.


	21. Ch 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jennifer has questions, problem is, she might not like the answers.

“Are you still mad at me?”

My words are a whisper but the quietness of the room allows them to drift, loud and clear, to Ken’s ears. Kenny just grunts from his place at the wooden desk, hand scribbling furiously into a spiral notebook. The decoded copies of the Codex pages sit in front of him and, while I know Ken isn’t fluent in Italian, he continues to write. 

“Ken,” I whimper from my spot on the floor. I sit, cross-legged, on the scratchy carpet as I wait for Ken to finally calm enough to yell and scold and tell me how much of an idiot I am. Because he will, there’s no doubt about it, and I fully accept that I fucked up. “I am sorry, you know. I wasn’t thinking—”

“You never are,” Ken says, but there’s no fire in his voice, no heat in his words as he slump forward to rest his elbows on the desk, fingers intertwining as he rests his chin on them. “And that’s the problem, Jen. I’m not mad that you ran off to explore Monteriggioni—this city doesn’t have a Templar mascaraing around as Grand Master—I’m mad that you didn’t _tell_ me.”

The exhaustion in his voice makes me shrink in on myself.

“Do you even realize how worried I was?” He asks, one hand going up to run through his long locks and all I can do is shake my head. “This city may be safer than Masyaf but it’s still dangerous, Jen. While I might not have fully agreed on you going off on your own, I would have known it was of your own violation and not because someone might have taken you.”

I say nothing, eyes glued to my lap as Ken huffs out a sigh.

“Just…just take me into consideration next time you pull a stunt like that,” he says, still no fire to his words as he goes back to scribbling into his notebook.

“Okay,” I mumble for a lack of anything better to say. Standing, I fix the skirts of my dress, dusting off imaginary dirt before I say, “I’m going down to Uncle Mario’s study to see if he knows anything else that might help us.”

Ken gives no response as I make my way out of the room. Once in the hall, I berate myself mentally for being so stupid as I make my way to my destination.

Uncle Mario’s still in his office when I get there. He doesn’t look up when I enter though. His eyes stayed glued to some papers he’s going over in the quiet, dim office. The sun has set some time ago and while the candles provide an adequate amount of light, the room is still a little bit on the dark side.

With nothing better to do, I collapse into an unoccupied chair, choosing to stare at the codex wall rather than disturb the busy man. My eyes roam over the yellowing papers—or is parchment a better word—again. I take in the scribbles with bored eyes, mind a million miles away, on a white cladd anti-hero who doesn't yet know he will save the Brother hood from the grip of it's deranged Master.

_I wonder if he’s okay._

“I gave you the wrong set of papers,” Uncle Mario says suddenly, voice completely casual. It takes the words awhile to make it through the haze of self-pity clouding my mind but, once they do, they confuse me.

“You did?” I ask, gaze slowly going to look at the man. His eyes are on me, a slightly calculating look on his serious face before he nods.

Standing, he stretches, back crackly loudly, before he heads to the bookcase against the wall. He pulls a red journal from the shelves. A thick, leather bound one held closed by a worn piece of twine.

“It was not until after your departure that I realized my blunder,” Uncle Mario says as he places the book onto the desk. I rise from my seat just as he begins to unwind the twine. He pulls the leather cover open just as I come to join him at the desk, the book laying in between us. “I gave you the decoded copies of the Codex without realizing they would be useless to you.”

“Useless?” I ask as Uncle Mario flips through the pages absentmindedly. Skimming through the pages filled with words I still can’t read, he stops at a random page, fingers running along the words until he lands on one. It starts with a ‘J’ and ends with an ‘R’ and just the fact that I hadn’t expected it takes me awhile to recognize the words. The fact that it’s also upside down doesn’t help.

_It’s my name._

“I gave you the decoded copies of Codex. The ones originally decoded by Leonardo,” he explains, finger tapping thoughtfully on my name before he pulls back and turns the book to face me. “Those always stayed the same. They haven’t changed. Only the ones on the wall—Altaïr’s pages—change. It caused quite a commotion once we discovered the changing of the Codex pages.

“Ezio was smart enough to fetch Leonardo once it began,” Uncle Mario says, pride filled smile coming to his lips. “Though it baffled Leonardo as well, and he had no answer for it, he left explicit instructions on how to decode them. It was easier than sending my nephew to fetch Leonardo every time something seemed different, you see.”

“While I cannot claim we got them all, I’ve managed to decode quite a few since we received Leonardo’s instructions,” he says, flipping back to the first pages, one long finger goes to tap at the corner of the page. There, scribbled in Uncle Mario’s elegant writing, is the date:

_‘Decimo di Marzo, 1478’_

“I must admit that transferring the writing into this book was not an idea that came until later,” he says, pulling back from the book and taking a seat again. “Thus not all of the versions of the Codex’s pages are in there.”

“It’s more than enough,” I say, closing the book and carefully winding the twine around it. “Thank you, Mr. Auditore.”

“You can call me Uncle Mario, child. I do not mind” he says, deep heavy laughter falling from his lips. The smile that comes after his laughter is contagious and I smile back at him as I nod in agreement. “Good, now, take those up to Kenneth before he comes looking for you. It is quite late.”

I say nothing to that as I gather up the book in my arms and exit the room, but the smile is bright on my face as I make my way back to our borrowed room. We won’t be sleeping in it, there’s no need to, but Ezio had insisted that it’d be highly rude if he hadn’t offered it to us.

That and we had a ruse to keep up.

He’d mumbled something about his mother  _and_ Claudia boxing his ears if they were ever to find out he hadn’t actually offered us a room to sleep in. So we’d taken the room and dumped our backpacks in it. Hoping to make it seem lived in enough to keep everyone not in the know off our backs.

~oOo~

The rest of the week passes by in a blur after our first trip to Monteriggioni. Too busy to really keep track of the days, we power through the things that need to get done. So the days past fast enough that I don’t realizes it’s been a week since Altaïr’s departure until Kenny places a thick stack of papers in front of me.

“What’s this, Ken?” I ask, hands stilling from scribbling down the readings flashing across the computer screen. Its menial labor, something to keep myself occupied with so I won’t sit around doing nothing.

With the swirl situation now taken care of in Monteriggioni—hidden in much the same manner as the one in Masyaf—there really hasn’t been much to do. Other than keep an eye on the computes in the attic. Life has taken a drastic slow down, especially with Ezio gone away on important business.

Something about a concerning letter from Leonardo. He’d ridden off to Venice too quickly for us to ask for more details but promised to explain everything once he returned.

“The pages,” Ken says as he collapses onto a nearby chair. He’s worn out, tired to the point that he closes his eyes as he leans back in his seat. “It was a hassle but I finally got them translated. It would have been quicker but the computer had a bit of a problem keeping everything as grammatically correct as possible. Renaissance Italian isn’t too different from modern Italian but there was enough variances in it cause trouble.”

“They’re finally done?”

“Yes,” Ken says, smile in his voice as he cracks one eye open and nods towards the stack. “They’re done.”

“Have you read them yet?” I ask, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice as I gather up the papers. I gaze at the first one, eyes running over it without really retaining any of the words.

“No, not yet,” Ken says, eyes closing again as he slumps further into his seat. "But I'll read them after you. Since they are about you, I feel you should be the first to read them."

“Why don’t you take a nap then, Ken?” I tell him, gaze coming up to run over him. He looks tired, clothes rumpled, hair sticking up in all directions. He's a mess, an honest to god mess and I can't help but feel as if he isn't taking Ezio's departure all that well. “There’s not much to worry about with Altaïr and Ezio gone. I’ll keep watch.”

Ken doesn’t argue, cluing me in as to just how tired he is. Instead he just nods and stands, moving slowly enough to make me wonder if he’s alright. But I don’t say anything as he trudges down the stairs and out of sight.

Turning back to the computer I copy down a few more numbers before I push away from it. The wheeled chair rolls easily across the wooden floor. It gliding across the attic until I reach the opposite side of the room were Uncle Mario’s journal lays.

Picking it up gently, I glide back to the computer with it cradles to my chest. I may not be able to read the book but I still treat it like the treasure it is as I lay it on the desk just as gently. Grabbing the stack of papers next, I lay them side by side as I open the journal to the first page:

_Tenth of March, 1478_

_First Entry:_

_‘Some days I find myself watching the skies. Looking for it even now. Decades have passed but a part of me still hopes. Still keeps watch over the city skies, watching not for danger but for **her.**_

_Malik calls me an idiot._

_Obsessing over a girl long gone and probably already married. He never fails to remind me that she probably has children as well whenever he catches me watching the skies. Grumpy old man. But he misses her too and I find him looking up just as much as I do._

_But the skies stay clear, the colors absent, and she stays gone. She has not returned and as the days continue to pass I know she never will._

_But not even cold hard facts keeps one from hoping.’_

_Second Entry:_

_‘Some days I feel as if it was all nothing but a dream. One filled with unimaginable wonders and a brown haired girl with a smile that could light up a room and the beauty to match but a dream nonetheless. Some days I will accept that as a fact and try to move one, to forget the dream but then I will catch Malik with a smile on his lips and a bright light in his eyes as he stares up at sky._

_“Wherever you are, I wish you well,” he will whisper, normal, human, fleshly hand coming up to caress the metal attach to what is left of his left arm._

_I cannot see it, hidden from view by his tunic sometimes I manage to forget about it. Sometimes I do not remember that it is there, that they had left this one evidence of their existence._

_Then I will catch Malik caressing the metal and it will all come back. I will remember that they were real. That they had been here. That, even though they had left—abandoning us to our fate—they had given Malik the greatest gift anyone could ever ask for._

_They gave him back his arm._

_A little different, a lot harder, but he had gotten it back._

_“Thank you. Both of you.”’_

_Fifteen of March, 1478_

_First Entry:_

_‘I watch him, eyes glued to the small body as it toddles around on unsteady legs._

_His first steps._

_The whole room watches him with wide smiles glued to their lips._

_Except Jen._

_She watches him with tear-filled eyes and a mournful gaze. But she is happy. I know she is. Even though regret continues to linger, she is happy. Deep down inside, she is glad that he made it into this world._

_She had refused to kill him, she said. With Tears in her eyes that time as well, she had pushed me away._

_“Think of Darim,” she had whispered as I pressed my lips to hers._

_I did not of know who she spoke of, I did not care. I wanted her. I needed her, but she had pulled back. The hands on my shoulders pushing me away while a badly restrained sob tore from her lips. The tears in her eyes had been enough to ward me away, cursing this Darim with everything I had for ruining this._

_For ruining us._

_Things grew strained then, tense, but she was set in doing her mission and had not abandoned us. She trudged on through the pain. We both did. Sharing no more words than absolutely necessary, we faced Al Mualim and won._

_Then there been an urgent trip to Cypress and no sooner had I set the body of my corrupt mentor alight than I was boarding a ship towards my next mission. I had not even gotten a chance for a proper goodbye, but my family knew and they understood so I did not let the guilt eat at me._

_Maria had fallen into my lap not too long after._

_Sarcastic and feisty she had healed old wounds. She had soothed my soul in ways only Jen had before. Far away from Masyaf, in a city crawling with Templar, she had been my only comfort. And as the days passed, away from home, I fell in love._

_I was tempted to keep her a secret, fearing what would happen if I returned with an ex-Templar hanging off my arm. Fearing what Jen would say, but the look Jen gave me after my return from Cypress told me she already knew._

_That she had always known._

_She had accepted Maria with open arms._

_Shocking everyone, she had taken Maria under her wing as surely as she had the rest of us. Maria accepted her back just as quickly. They were inseparable, laughing and joking and becoming the sisters they never had._

_Slowly, our relationship healed. Refusing to let old hurts come between us any longer, we mended the bridge. She was my best friend then, encouraging me to take leadership of the Brotherhood despite my many reservations._

_Things were good, things would be fine._

_Until **he** enter this world. _

_As I held the squirming child, bloody and crying but no less special, I knew I would never love someone as much as I did him. That is when I realized, as my eyes took in the sight of my first child, that I had always known his name._

_Darim._

_And as I watched the tears rolled down Jennifer’s cheeks, heavy and thick. Tears of regret and relief, I knew._

_I knew that she had loved me too._

_She had loved me enough not to take him away from me._

_And I would never be able to repay her for such kindness.’_

_Second Entry:_

_‘She had warned me._

_She told me to take care of him._

_That problems would only arise if I continue to let Abbas carry on as he had. But I had not listened. I had ignored her warning, and now she is gone._

_She is dead._

_Jennifer is dead and it is all my fault.’_

_Seventeenth of March, 1478_

_First Entry:_

_‘The dreams continue to plague her. She raises from sleep with a scream on her lip but the moment her eyes open, her torments are forgotten. The terror sticks to her though. Clings to her like a second skin and permeates the air with the smell of her fear._

_She wakes in a cold sweat more often than not now._

_She refuses to eat most days. Even when all her favorite foods are set in front of her, she turns the food away. Unable to bring even a bite to her mouth. The grief consumes her too much. She is wasting away. Turning into a slip of the girl she used to be. With reed thin arms that tremble at the slightest provocation._

_She cannot wipe the scene from her mind’s eyes, she tells me one night. The world is dead around us. Quiet and dark and she trembles in my arms as she whispers the first words she has said in weeks._

_“I keep seeing Kenny die, Altaïr.”’_

_Second Entry._

_‘Slowly she heals. With the colds of winter her will to live returns. Gradually and mostly unnoticed the fire in her eyes grows. She no less broken though. Shatter by hands that dealt her torture, she will never be the same._

_If only I had killed that bastard sooner._

_But I don’t give up._

_I put her back together, piece by broke piece even as all others have turned their backs._

_Abandoning her._

_She is broken in summer, wasting away to nothing while autumn comes and goes. But by winter she eats, weight coming back and ribs disappearing back under a healthy layer of fat. And I have no one else but Malik to thank for that._

_He takes one look at her on the eve of winter. Sees her cloudy, vacant gaze and he snaps. He yells and screams and cruses until once vacant eyes go up to look him in mild surprise._

_“Do not let him win,” he screams once he has her attention, angry sobs breaking free as he gathers her up in his arm. Shushing her when tremors begin to wrack through her frame. “Cry, little bird, but do not let him win. Do not let him know he broke you.”_

_By spring she talks. Silted, broken sentences but at least she speaks and I soak up her words like a sponge, encouraging her to say more. Where her time was once spent curled in bed, staring blankly at the wall she now moves, accompanying me across the Castle grounds._

_But she does not stray. She sticks to my side like glue, refusing to be left behind. Malik is the only one that can pull her away when it is necessary. She goes with him willingly, trusting him enough to accompany him to the library or the mess hall but never outside the Fortress walls._

_She is not ready for that._

_She is still too scare to face the outside world._

_Never mind that her torture took place within these very walls._

_If I could kill that bastard again, I would._

_By the time summer rolls around again she smiles. Her first smile since she had landed in that bastard’s hands. It is no less broken than her sentences had once been but you have to start somewhere._

_“I am sorry,” I whisper one chilly September night. Autumn has come with winter hot on her heels. She is curled in my arms, seeking warmth, and on the verge of sleep. “I should not have left,” I finally admit. One year later, I lay my regrets out for her to see. “I should not have left you here alone.”_

_“It’s not your fault,” she whispers back, hoping to easy my guilt even though we both know I am the only one to blame. “You were needed in Cypress. Besides you couldn’t have known Abbas would…that he would…that he…he…”_

_I shush her as she begins to tremble, tears pouring over her cheeks._

_“I am sorry.”’_

_Twentieth of March, 1478_

_First Entry:_

_‘The birds sing, the sun shines, and the peaceful morning is broken by the cry of the alarm clock._

_Jennifer grumbles unhappily next to me, nudging me to turn off its incessant shrieking. Never mind that it is on her side of the bed. With a grumble of my own I do as she bids, reaching over her sleeping form, if only to get her to stop jamming her elbow into my ribs._

_“Thank you,” she sighs once the shrieking stops, pulling me down to hover over her before I can return to my side of the bed. I make sure to keep my weight off her as I bend to connect our lips. “Have I told you how much I love waking up like this?” she asks, arms coming up to wrap around my neck. “With a kiss from you? Makes a girl feel like Sleeping Beauty.”_

_“Only every morning,” I tell her, settling carefully on top of her body, mindful of her stomach. Big and round with our child, I make sure my weight stays off it.  “But I do not mind hearing it so often, Princess.”_

_She is a vision. Curled hair splayed around her, skin glowing in the sunlight that streams from the window, eyes bright and wide and full with so much love my breath catches in my throat. I cannot look away even if I wanted to._

_Not a princess but an Angel._

_“I wouldn’t doubt that,” she giggle against my lips but those giggles soon trail off, turning to pleased moan—’_

 

“Woah! Okay, that’s enough reading for today!” I yelp, embarrassed as I lay the papers back on the desk, as far away from me as I can. “What the fuck Altaïr? Morning sex? Why would you feel the need to write that into the codex?”

I fan my face desperately, hoping to get rid of the redness I can feel there. Thankfully the room is still empty with my parents gone off to work and Alexis in school so no one is here to seem me internally panicking.

“You know what? I’m just going to hide this page. I don’t need anyone else reading this,” I mumble as I grab the page and, folding it up, jam it into my pocket. “Jesus, Uncle Mario read these!”

Groaning in embarrassment at the realization, I bury my face into my hands.

_I’ll never be able to look him in the face again._

There’s still more entries to read, but these have been enough for now. I don’t think I’m quite ready to face whatever else might be in there. However, as embarrassing as that last one had been, what I’ve managed to read has offered a lot of clues and insight over our situation.

Namely to stay the hell away from Abbas.

That man will go after me, given the chance. Though I can’t say I’m really surprised over that. He went after _Malik,_ after all. He killed him and if he’s crazy enough to go after Altaïr’s closest friend and right hand man who’s to say he wouldn’t go after Altaïr’s…what are we anyways?

The Codex have listed me as both his lover and just a platonic friend. Hell, apparently I can also be the mother of his god damn child. Shit, what’s that’s supposed to mean? What am I supposed to do?

Both of our feelings are obviously clear.

The codex has all but spelled them out.   

He cares for me and will come to care for me deeply enough to be called love.

And I love him.

There’s no denying that no matter how hard I try but…but what about Darim and Sef?

I can’t just let them _not_ be born.

No matter what I want they should be allowed to be born, right?

“Why is this so confusing?” I ask out loud, slumping over in my seat to bang my head on the desk. Unsure of what to do or think I run my hand over the piece of paper tucked away in my pocket.

Maybe I’ll find my answers there.

“Aw fuck it.”

Pulling the paper back out, I skim through it while still being slumped over. The embarrassment I can feel creeping in keeps me from straightening up in my seat.

 

_‘“What will we name this one,” she asks around a gasp of air as I trail kisses down her neck._

_“I think you already know the answer to that one,” I say against her skin and she giggles again even though her body begins to tense. “Jen—”_

_“They’re not the same people, Altaïr,” she whisper as I pull back. Locking eyes I can see the unease in her gaze. I spot the guilt that continues to eat at her no matter how many I reassure her that it is okay. “I killed your real children.”_

_“ **These** are my real children,” I whisper back, voice low but strong with conviction as I gently cup her stomach. “Darim, **our** Darim, is my child and no matter what you choose to call this one, be it Sef or Ken or Kadar, he will be my child as well. In flesh, blood, and soul.”_

_She stays quiet for so long, I fear I might have said the wrong thing but after a few minutes she smiles and pulls me back into her arms._

_“Kadar,” she whispers against my lips. “Malik would love that.”_

_“Yes he would,” I agree, sealing our lips together._

_Kadar Ibn-La'Ahad, second son of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad was born on the eve of Winter. Two years after I was inadvertently tossed into a world that was not my own.’_

“Oh so it wasn’t morning sex,” I mutter both relieved and disappointed at the same time. Not that it isn’t obvious that we must have before but knowing we had sex and reading just how we had sex is two very different things. “That’s a relief.”

With it being clear that there’s nothing to worry about with this pages, I straighten it out and place it back on the pile of others.

Well, that help a bit. Not much but enough. But really, what am I doing worry over something still so far away? We haven’t even beaten Al Mualim yet! You know what?

_I’ll cross this bridge when I get to it._

Decision made, I stand from my seat, papers forgotten as I make my way out of the attic.

There’s no use worry over our Love Story yet.

I have a world to save.

_Hopefully he hasn't left for Jerusalem yet._

And an injured birdie to visit. 


	22. Ch 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Jen, you had Ronnie pining after you all during High School.”_
> 
> _“So?”_
> 
> _“So? He was a McGregor, Jen,” Ken says. “The son of the richest family on the block. You would have been set for life if you’d just given in, you know that right?’_
> 
> _It’s so…nice to finally have a conversation that isn’t about Assassins and swirls and the end of the world. To delve into the latest gossip about the neighborhood and catch up on all I’ve missed. For these few minutes, I’m not the girl chosen by otherworldly beings intent on having me save their world._
> 
> _I’m just me._
> 
> _And given everything I’ve been through these past weeks, the weight of responsibility unexpectedly dropped onto my shoulders, it’s honestly refreshing._
> 
> _Like a breath fresh air I hadn’t realized I desperately need._
> 
> _“Ronnie was an Asshole."_
> 
> _“An asshole but rich,” Ken agrees because fair is fair._

 

The fortress is as quiet as always.

The thick stone walls trapping all noise within.

I make my way down the stone halls, head held high and exuding a confidence I don’t actually feel. Desperately trying to act like I belong, I keep my pace slow and my breathing steady as I try to figure out where the hell I am.

It isn’t until now that I realized there had been a fatal flaw in all my planning.

_I don’t even know where the hell I am, much less where he’ll be!_

It was suppose to be a simple mission. Find Malik, check in on him, and then go home but, after a few more wrong turns, I’m sure I’ll never find my way out of here. That is until a muffled chuckle breaks the silence.

“Is this place really that hard to navigate?” A voice asks, familiar accent twining through the words and I breathe a sigh of relief. “You’ve been going in circle for the past few minutes, little one. In fact this is your fifth time past my room.”

“Odell,” I say, the relief plain in my voice as I turn to face him. He’s standing in a doorway, wooden door pulled open and the dark room casting him in shadows. “Thank god you found me. I was afraid I’d spend the rest of my days trying to find my way out.”

“Altaïr would have come looking for you eventually,” he teases, a small smile on what’s visible of his face as he separates from the shadows and draws near. “What are you doing down here anyways? I thought you’d be at the Inn with your companions.”

“Right, the Inn,” I agree, even though they hadn’t actually gotten a room at the Inn—I didn’t even know there was an Inn but I really should have. Where else would travelers stay? “Well, you see, I was kind of hoping to see Malik.”

“Malik?” Odell questions, confused but I just nod my head in agreement, nervously wringing my fingers as I wait to see how he’ll react to that. “Last I heard he was still recovering,” Odell says, not prying for any more information as he steps completely out of the doorway and closes the door behind him. “He should be in the Healer’s rooms.”

“He’s not there,” I tell him as he motions for me to follow him. He pauses in his steps, turning to look at me with a raised brow. “Altaïr and I went to check on him there but the healer said he was moved to his room.”

“That will be this way then,” Odell says, leading me back down the hall. I follow after him eagerly, neither of us saying anything as he takes me to Malik’s. It’s with a bit of pride that I note that I wasn’t too far off the mark. “This should be it,” he says, stopping at an unassuming wooden door a few corridors away from his own. “Will you need my help finding your way back out?”

“Yes please.”

“Then I shall be back in a few minutes,” he says, ushering me towards the door before he turns to leave. “I have a few things I need to see to but I won’t be long.”

“Okay,” I mumble as I watch him go. Eyes trailing over his retreating back. He’s keeping busy. I haven’t been able to lay eyes on him for more than five minutes, much less actually have a conversation with him. Can’t really complain though.

_He seems better._

Not a hundred percent but definitely better. More at ease in his skin. The road ahead of him will still be a long one, I’m sure of it, but he seems to be pulling through. He didn’t seem…angry towards Altaïr anymore but with Altaïr constantly out on missions I’m not sure if they’ve even had a chance to talk since... Basim was, well, killed.

_I’ll have to look into that._

Returning my attention back to why I came here in the first place, I turn back to the door. My knocks are quiet, hesitant but they’re enough. A voice comes from the other side of the door, words imperceptible, after just three knocks. Not sure what else to do I wait for the door to open.

It does, but it’s not Malik who opens the door. It’s a young thing with big brown eyes and short black hair. A teen that my mind struggles to classify as either boy or girl. Not that it matters, of course.

“Um, is Malik in?” I ask instead, eyes going over the teen and searching what I can see of the room.

“Yes,” the kid says, voice soft and sweet—girl, definitely a girl. She carry a bucket of red tinged water in one hand and bloodied rags in another. Motioning me aside with a nod of her head she says, “He’s in bed, recovering. You may see him, of course. Healer Nasir did not forbade visitors, I just ask that you do not aggravate him.”

She leaves after that, carrying her infectious water with her.

_Jesus, they need better medical practices._

I stare after her for a bit before making my way into the room, softly closing the door behind me. The room isn’t as bleak as Altaïr’s. Though not elegantly furnished either. There’s only a shabby wooden dresser against one wall and an equally worn wooden desk against another. The bed, Mailk’s bed, is pushed up against a wall, a small bedside table next to it. There’s another bed, empty and made, against the opposite wall but I avoid setting eyes on it.

Instead I focus on the knickknacks. Little wooden statues and clay vases with beautiful designs adorn the dresser. A map lies on the desk, unfinished with an inkwell carefully placed beside it. And on the bed, under a mess of blanket lays a shivering lump known as Malik.

_Shit._

I hurry to his side, pausing once I reach it when I realize I don’t know what to do. I’m not medically versed, so I can do nothing more than watch as Malik shivers uncontrollably even while under a pile of blankets. He doesn’t react to my presence as I fret at the side of his bed.  

He must have fallen asleep.

The only visible part of him is his head. Eyes closed in restless sleep, I take in his red cheeks and sickly pallor as I consider coming back at another time. He’s a running a fever and while that normally wouldn’t mean death in my time, I don’t know if it does here.

I can’t abandon him either way.

Mind made, I pull off almost all the blankets. Leaving only a thin, ratty blanket behind despite all off Malik’s unconscious grumbling. Peering around the room again, I find a vase of water on bedside table with an empty cup.

Filling the cup, I leave it within hand’s reach and search the drawers for a rag or a piece of cloth. I find one on the floor when my search of the bedside table proves fruitless. It’s bloody, of course, and I curse my luck as I push the cloth away with my foot.

_What is with these people and their bloody cloths?_

With a huff, I move to the dresser, finding an unassuming rag in one of the drawers, I return to Malik’s side. Shrugging my pack from my shoulders, I pull a bottle of water from it and wet the rag with it. While I don’t doubt the quality of their drinking water, it’s just not sanitary enough for me at the moment. Not with what I’ve seen so far anyways.

Carefully I lay the rag over Malik’s forehead even while not knowing if it’s the correct thing to do. I’ve never had to deal with a fever that wasn’t my own and even then all I did was burrow under a mess of blankets until it’d gotten too hot to stand.

And that’s not the correct thing to do, is it?

You have to bring your temperature down when you have a fever, right?

_I’m useless._

Taking a seat on the empty bed, I consider dragging the blanket back over Malik’s form. He’s obviously cold, shivering from it, but he’s hot to the touch.

_And now he’s uncomfortable._

His restlessness has gotten worse. Eyes moving frantically under his lids and grumbling become more frequent. I’m out of depth here.

Completely out of my element.

Admitting defeat, I carefully lay the blankets back over him. One after the next until he’s under a mess of blankets again. He’s restlessness eases as he warms but it never leaves him complete. The fever has him in her grip and won’t let him go until she’s good and ready to.

With a defeated sigh I pick up my bag from where I placed it on the floor. Rummaging through it, I pull a butterscotch candy from it. Popping it into my mouth, I store the bottle of water back into the pack lest I forget it.

Tossing the pack back onto my shoulder I stand, weary after today’s complete and utter failure.

“I’m sorry, Malik,” I whisper, placing a kiss to his burning forehead. “It seems I’ve failed you yet again.”

With nothing else to say or do, I exit his room.

Odell leans against the wall, one again in the shadows as he waits for me. He leads me out of the fortress without a word. Only shoot occasional glances my way when he sees I’m not up for chit-chat. He leaves me at the gate, citing more business to deal with and I don’t fight him, just continue on.

With one last look up at the fortress, I start my trek back home.

~oOo~

It’s loud.

The room is filled with the sound of metal forks scrapping ceramic plates and people talking to their lunch partners. Ken sits across the booth from me, intently studying his plastic menu and studiously ignoring me.   

“It could work,” I reason, my own eyes gazing over the menu in my hands even though I already know what I’ll order. I tend to be the type of person who always gets the same thing at a restaurant despite my constant need for adventure. It’s a sense of normalcy, of familiarity, I refuse to let go. “It showed up in The Codex too, so it can’t be that bad of an idea.”

“Do you even realize what you’re asking me?” he asks, finally turning his attention to me as he sets the menu down. “It all may seem a simple in thought but what you’re actually asking me to do is create a prosthetic arm, but not just any prosthetic arm. One that will run on some type of self-rechargeable battery and never need any sort of maintenance just in case we do manage to close the swirls. Basically, you want me to invent the first self-sufficient prosthetic arm, do you realize how ridiculous that is?”

“Ridiculous doesn’t always mean impossible,” I grumble, bringing the menu up to hide my face behind it. While it is a bit embarrassing to be indirectly called an idiot, I don’t give up. “Just consider it,” I tell him, knowing that once the idea’s in his head they’ll be no getting out. “Imagine how many people you’ll be helping if you manage to do it.”

We drop the conversation after that. Partially because there isn’t much more to say on the matter but mostly because the glass doors to the restaurant burst open. The chiming of the bells announcing a new customer draws both our attention just as someone shouts:

“Ken!”

Little Anissa, though not so little anymore, barrels past the servers and clients, launching herself into Ken’s arms just as he raises to catch her.

“Ani,” Ken breathes, drawing her close and clutching onto her for dear life. He all but breathes her in, relishing the sight of her after so much time kept apart. “You’ve gotten so big,” he says, voice slightly pained as he pulls back to look her over. “Really big.”

“I hope that isn’t a fat joke, Ken,” she says, pushing him back in mock annoyance but there’s a smile plastered on her face. “It’s what happens to people,” she says, teasing him as she moves to slide into the booth. “They grow.”

And she has grown. Once nothing more than a gangly teen that used to come up to my shoulder, she now stands at a good few inches taller than me. Not that it’s a surprising thing either. She is Ken’s sister, after all, and that boy’s basically a tree.   

But being tall isn’t all she got from the Chase family tree. She’s also got the good looks, she’s pretty. Gorgeous even, with big blue eyes, high cheek bones, and a small button nose. Long blonde bangs frame her slim face, while the rest of her blonde tresses are pulled up into a bun. Even while sitting messily atop her head, I know her hair is long, probably hangs well past her shoulders.

She’s thin too, almost worryingly thin. The thick, pea coat wrap snugly around her gives the illusion of a healthier frame, but the thin, bony wrists peeking out from the tan sleeves tells a different story. A strong enough breeze could knock her over, I’m sure of it. But I don’t say anything, or bring it to Ken’s attention as I smile at her.

“Hey Ani,” I say, trying for nonchalant, but the badly concealed excitement slips through either way. It’s earns me a bright, wide smile as she basically bounces in her seat. Her hands clap quietly, making almost no noise as she just stops herself from climbing over the table and drawing me in for a hug.

“Jen!” she cries just as excitedly, hands reaching out for mind and I wrap my fingers around her long ones without hesitation. Though my worry only increases as her the bones of her cold, thin fingers press uncomfortably into mine. “It’s been too long.”

“It has,” I agree, fingers still curled around hers, hoping to transfer as much warmth into them as I can as our hands lay on the table. “How have you been? How’s school?”

She goes off then, talking a mile a minute as she fills us in on all we’ve missed these past few months. She’s always been a talker and she talks through the rest of our late lunch without any more promoting, pausing only to place her order. Though I make sure to wrestle the conversation back under my control, taking over it, when the server places our food in front of us so I can make sure she eats.

“You sound like you need a vacation,” I tell her, slightly reeling over from information overload. Anissa nods, eyes wide and exasperated as her mouth close around a bit of food. “Do you have any plans for Halloween?”

“Can’t say that I do,” she says, hand coming up to shield her mouth as she talks around her mouthful. Her fork begins to push her vegetables around her plate then. No longer bringing the food to her lips. “But there’s been talk of a big party up at the McGregor’s.”

“There’s always a Halloween Party at the McGregor’s,” I remind her, falling into the conversation easily enough. “At this point it’s an annual event.”

It’s so…nice to finally have a conversation that _isn’t_ about Assassins and swirls and the end of the world. To delve into the latest gossip about the neighborhood and catch up on all I’ve missed. For these few minutes, I’m _not_ the girl chosen by otherworldly beings intent on having me save their world.

I’m just me.

Just Jennifer Hernandez, the daughter of Alexander Hernandez—a Private Investigator with his own firm—and Anna Candace Hernandez—a doctor who can usually be seen pulling double shifts at Queen of the Valley Hospital’s Emergency Room. I’m just the girl with so much ahead of her but not a clue what to do with her life.

Phrased like that, it doesn’t sound much better.

It’s not supposed too.

It’s who I am.

The truth, plain and simple. I’m not some awesome, spectacular, girl with hidden talents and an endless amount of friends—minions—at her feet. I’m just me. A girl struggling to find her place in a world she doesn’t quite know how to navigate. So instead she spends her days playing video games and her nights tolling away at a dead-end job.

And given everything I’ve been through these past weeks, the weight of responsibility unexpectedly dropped onto my shoulders, it’s honestly refreshing.

Like a breath fresh air I hadn’t realized I desperately need.

As I sit there and talk about the street’s most notorious Halloween party, I melt into the booth. Uncaring about anything but this world.

My world.

“It is annual,” Anissa agrees, bringing another bite of food to her mouth. “But Craig refuses to call it that since they aren’t sure how long they’ll be able to keep it up. You know their parents don’t quiet approve of the party.”

“That’s because they always get too loud,” Kenny says, shrugging. “Sure, they have money, but I’m certain paying off the fines they get every year isn’t how they’d like to spend it. If they just kept it down they wouldn’t have the police knocking down their door to hand out tickets.”

“They’d be there anyways,” Anissa counters. “By this point, they already know there will be underage drinkers there. They’d be there even if they didn’t ‘disturb the peace’. I mean, what better way to fill your quota than at The Party of the Year?”

It’s always the party of the year. Has been since _I_ started high school and continues to be even after I’ve graduated. It’s attend by the who’s who of the year’s current batch of high schoolers, almost religiously.

Never mind that the McGregor children are past High school and well into their adult years.

It’d taken on more of a College Party vibe since the last McGregor child graduated, attended by alumni and old friends, but the high schoolers still show up and no one kicks them out. All’s fair at a party, just make sure to check for ID before going to bed with anyone.

_Everyone’s underage until proven otherwise._

“And you want to go,” I guess at, causing her to nod her head quickly in agreement.

“It’ll boost my popularity,” she says, raising her chin up and fixing her coat. She tries to look regal and aloof as she sits there, though the effect is ruined by the giggles that pour from her lips. “Like I really care.”

“Then why do you want to go?” Ken asks, eyes narrowing slightly as he brings the last bite of his steak to his mouth.

“Everyone else is going,” Anissa says, as if that should explain it all. “I might not care about my ‘popularity’ but I don’t want to miss out on an important piece of the High School experience. You know, cutting classes, getting drunk, doing drugs. All that good stuff.”

“There’s more to High School than drugs and alcohol,” I say, as Kenny chokes on his mouthful. I raise one eye brow in disbelief and Anissa ducks her head in embarrassment at the scrutiny. “I know you missed out on a year already but don’t be in a hurry to fuck it all up.”

“I’m not fucking it up,” Anissa denies, agitated as her eyes narrow. She reminds me of a chicken, feather puffed up in irritation as she gets ready to tear into me. “I just want to live a little. Heaven knows I can’t with my parents breathing down my neck all the time.”

“Can’t argue there,” I agree, not the least bit apologetic in the face of her anger as I push around the last scrapes of food on my plate. “So how do you plan to go to the party if your parents won’t let you out of their sights for more than five minutes?”

“I got a few ideas,” she mumbles, anger leaving just as quickly as it came. Her eyes go to the side then, not looking at anyone. “Wait,” she says, eyes widening as they move back to me. “Why don’t you come with me?’

“Me?” I ask confused, as I lean back in my seat. “Why do you want me to go?”

“You know the McGregor’s,” Anissa says, as if that should be a good enough reason. It isn’t and I tell her as much. “I won’t know anyone there,” she admits, gaze forlorn as she stared down at the table filed with our empty plates. “School’s been kind of hard, being the new kid and all. I was hoping, well, being seen at the party might score me a few points.”

“So it is about popularity,” I say, eyes going over her lean frame again, taking in her outfit. Tan, elegant pea coat over a low-cut, black shirt, paired with blue jeans and heeled boots, all in all very stylish. Screams, fashionista in a subdued kind of way.

“Just a bit,” she admits, gazed still ducked and I don’t blame her.

Not really.

I’ve been through high school. Her high school in particular. A private school, filled with snobby, rich teens and a social ladder. It’s almost a shock to remember that the school I attended had had such a thing. Having not attended that school in almost three years, I’d pushed it to the back of my mind. Buried it deep into a hole where I tossed everything else I didn’t care about.

Because I _hadn’t_ cared.

On the bottom of the social ladder, from a not so rich—but still _very_ well off—family, I’d basically told everyone to sod off with their social segregation and idiotic cliques. Let’s just say it hadn’t earned me many friends.

And I firmly did not care.

And as I watch, little Anissa, dressed fashionably for nothing more than a lunch date with her big brother and sporting a thin frame that hints to deliberately missed meals, I wished she could say the same. That she hadn’t cared about where she found herself eating during lunch time, but she does and I can do nothing more than sigh regretfully.

“You do realize I wasn’t the most popular in high school, right?” I asks, gaze firmly locked on her. Her eyes go up to lock with mine, wide and hopeful. “Being seen with me won’t bring you whatever popularity you hope to gain.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ken asks, laughing slightly when I turn a confused look his way. “Jen, you had Ronnie pining after you all during High School.”

“So?”

“So? He was a McGregor, Jen,” Ken says, giving me a look that says I’m being needlessly thick. “The son of the richest family on the block. You would have been set for life if you’d just given in, you know that right?’

“Ronnie was an Asshole,” I say because he was.

Roderick McGregor, eldest son of the McGregor family and heir of the McGregor business. He’d been the biggest jerk I’ve met to date. Always flaunting his money and promising me a life of endless riches and pleasure if I’d just given into his advances.

I told him to stick his daddy’s money were the sun don’t shine.

“An asshole but rich,” Ken agrees because fair is fair. “But being the one that got away certainly did score you a few popularity points.”

“Why does this matter, again?”

“Because,” Anissa says, drawing the conversation back on track. “If I were to seen hanging around a couple of college kids, I’d score a few points myself. That and because if I’d were to go by myself I’d be seen as a bigger loser than I already am.”

“Right,” I agree even though I’ve lost the point of this conversation. “So, basically, you want us to go with you to this weekend’s Halloween party even though you have no idea how you’re going to get permission to go, right?”

“Something like that,” Anissa agrees, nose scrunching up in distaste over my choice of words. “I’ll get back to you over the details of my escape later. But, are you in?”

“Why not?” I says, shrugging as I really see no reason to _not_ go. “What’s the worst that could happen?”


	23. Ch 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We all remember the car crash._
> 
> _It’d been huge and horrible and cost them so much. The term_ 'an arm and a leg' _had never been so literal ‘til then._

 “A sleep over?”

Her eyes are narrowed, hard, blue crystals that peer into my very soul. I force a ditzy, clueless smile as I nod, fighting to keep from squirming under her gaze as they run over me. My own Mother may have her moments, but this women is the embodiment of poise and aloof and cold.

“You expect me to believe that all you two are going to do is sleep on Halloween night?” she ask, voice just as frosty as her gaze. “And where, pray tell, will Kenneth be during all of this? You cannot expect me to believe the boy will spend the holiday alone.”

“He’s on a business trip,” I tell her, lying through my teeth. The smile on my face is just on the side of promising unimaginable pain, but what she makes of it, I don’t know. Her face stays set in its cold, disinterested look. “He’s off to present his newest innovations to the board.”

“I see,” she says, one golden brow rising as she stays seated, hands carefully folded on her lap. “So while the boy is away you’ve set your sights on my daughter. Haven’t you caused enough trouble for this fam—?”

“Mother!” Anissa cuts her off, face a bright red from her seat next to me. “That’s a highly rude thing to say to our guest.”

We’re in the grand Chase home, seated on the plush sofas and surrounded by designer furnishing. And yet I can’t help but feel as if we’re in some Medieval Palace, standing in a sparse throne room, talking to the Evil Queen. It doesn’t help the Victoria Chase looks down her extremely long nose at us like the peasants she no doubt thinks we are.

“She’s not welcomed here,” her mother states, frosty gaze rounding on Anissa. She shrinks under it instantly, cowering under the weight of her disapproving gaze. “I will not allow her to spend the night.”

_Bitch._

“Why not?” Anissa ask, finding a backbone she doesn’t normally have when it comes to Victoria. Not backing down even when Victoria’s gaze becomes harder. “I fail to see how any of this is Jennifer’s fault.”

Anissa’s words are met with an even harder, if possible, stare. Those crystal blue eyes all but cut into her as Victoria’s lips pull into a thin line. Victoria says nothing while she stares her daughter down though. Never having quite been one for words, she simply keeps her steely gaze on us.

“You know very well why that girl isn’t welcomed,” Victoria says, words just as cold as her gaze. I try to keep my offense hidden, but I know it still bleeds through when Anissa’s hand comes to cover mine. “It’s _her_ fault you—”

“Jen wasn’t even in the car, Mother!”

“But she should have been,” Victoria snaps back, voice still cold despite her fury. Her face no longer stays set in its cold, indifferent look though. No, her features twist, lips curling with anger as she spits out the words. As we finally gets to the crux of her problem with me. “If _she_ had been keen to continue on humoring _that_ _boy,_ she’d be the one with a missing leg, not _you_.”

We all remember the car crash.

It’d been huge and horrible and cost them so much. The term _'arm and a leg'_ had never been so literal ‘til then.

But even then, it hadn’t been Ken’s fault. They’d been hit, T-bone by a drunk driver on their way home in the dead of the night. What was supposed to be a happy celebration ended in blood and pain and twisted metal.

They’d disowned Kenny before he’d even made out of the hospital with every intention of suing him. It hadn’t come as much of a surprised. The boy’s loaded and the Chase Matriarch had been looking for an excuse to sink her claws into his money long before that.

Ken relationship with his parents had always been strained.

“It was my _birthday_ ,” Anissa says, exasperation in her voice. She’s careful not to let Victoria know if her words have hit a sore spot. She continues on with the conversation as if they’re not talking about the event that changed her life. “You can hardly blame them for _my_ wanting to celebrate. How many times do I have to tell you that _I_ asked Ken to take me to Disneyland? It was _me,_ my idea. If it’s anyone’s fault then it’s mine.”

“Nonsense.”

“So if it’s not my fault and obviously can’t be their fault since it was my idea, then whose fault is it?” Anissa asks, but Victoria doesn’t respond. She just schools her features back into that disinterested look when she realizes there will be no winning this one. “Okay, since neither of us are at fault, give me one good reason Jen can’t spend the night.”

“I don’t want her here.”

“Then I’ll spend the night at Jen’s,” Anissa says, face lighting up as if the idea just came to her. It’s part of the plan, of course. Though it leaves me with an uneasy feeling in my stomach as we manipulate Victoria into giving us what we want. “Do you think your mom will be okay with that?”

“I don’t think she’ll mind,” I bite out; ignoring Victoria’s muttering about how _‘of course, she still lives at home.’_ “I’ll ask but I’m pretty sure she’ll be fine with it.”

“Then it’s settled,” Anissa says, standing on unsteady legs. She drags me to my feet before Victoria can object to it. Not that she will, between letting Anissa out and having me here we all know which she prefers. “I’ll be spending the night at the Hernandez’s.”

We make it to her room with no fuss.

“That went…well, all things considering,” Anissa says, ever cheerful as she tosses her purse across the room. I watch its path, wincing when it lands on a leather, rolling chair with a _‘thunk’._ “Could have been worse, right?”

“Yeah,” I agree, flopping on to her bed with a groan. “She could have booted my ass out of your house the second I walked in.”

Anissa doesn’t bother to deny that she could have done just that if she hadn’t intervene and beg her Mother to hear us out. While her parents hate my guts and dislike Ken’s, they adore her. Give her everything she could ever ask for.

It doesn’t mean they aren’t strict with her though.

“Well, now that that’s done and over with,” Anissa says, walking over to her closet and pulling the mirrored doors open. “Would you like to see my costume?”

“You already bought one?”

The next few hours are spent going through Anissa’s vast collection of costume. Apparently she didn’t buy one, she’d bought _several._ All running with the theme of pink, lacey, and scandalously short skirts. She wears them with pride though and I keep my eyes respectfully away from the clunky prosthetic she hides with thigh-high stockings.

“I’m not going to hide myself,” she finally says, posing in front of a full length mirror. She wears a fairy costume with a lace up top and fluffy skirt that does almost nothing to hide her rump. But her eyes aren’t focused on her costume. They’re glued to her legs. “I’m done covering up something that will always be a part of me.”

I watch her as she beings to admire herself in the mirror, wondering where the sudden confidence came from and how I’d managed to miss her learning to love herself just the way she is. Prosthetic leg and all. Mourning the time lost between us, I realize that I really am missing so much.

That I’ve missed so much of life and I can’t even blame Minerva.

I’d locked myself away from the world long before they’d come in and turned my life upside down. Stuck working most nights and asleep all day, I had no life. Outside of video games and Ken and Mother and Father and Alexis, I had nothing else. Did nothing else but work and play video games, and maybe find time for a quick conversation with them before it was time for work or sleep.

Hell, now that I really think about it, these past few weeks are the most social I’ve been in months. I’ve seriously been neglecting everyone, ignoring messages and calls and I can only imagine what kind of damage it’s done to the few friendships I have.

Though, as I watch Anissa spin and twirl in front of her mirror, tripping every so often as her prosthetic leg catches on the carpet, I know I have no one to blame but myself.

They all tried to reach me.

_But I didn’t._

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I stare at all the message I couldn’t bring myself to open, let alone delete. Some are from old friends, most from distant family members and cousins, and even a few from Anissa herself. It’s with shame and guilt that I open the messages now, even while realizing that it’s too late to reply to most, if not all.

_Relationships are a bridge built by two._

And I’ve let most of mine crumble.

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I turn my attention back to Anissa just as she pulls off the fairy costume and throws on an angel one.

“You have a thing for wings, don’t you?” I ask as I turn my gaze to the bee one next in line to be tried on. “Do you know how much of a hassle it is to tote a pair of wings around all night?”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“It isn’t,” I agree, fingers running over the bee wings. The material is thin, stretchy, and delicate. So I ghost my fingers over it, barely touching. Yet my fingers come back covered in glitter. “Not until you have to concentrate on not smacking everyone with them.”

“I’ll be fine,” she’s say, waving my concern away as she slips the white, skimpy dress over her thin thighs and slim hips. “I bet you all these costumes would look so much better if I actually had some curves.”

“Eat something then,” I reply as casually as I can. Let it be said that me and subtle don’t quite go together.

“Not you too,” Anissa groans as she pulls the strapless dress over her chest. Fixing her hair, she catches my eyes through the mirror. “I swear, you have one sudden growth spurt that leaves your body struggling to catch up and the whole world thinks you’re anorexic.”

“Maybe if you didn’t look like skin and bones, people would lay off,” I suggest, not completely buying her excused.

“If I scoff down a cheeseburger would that make you feel better?”

“Only if it’s your third one.”

“I swear you’re just as bad as Ken.”

~oOo~

The music flows out the tall black speakers, loud, nearly eardrum shattering. The bass reaches all that way to my bones, vibrating them as I sway to the beat of a song I don’t recognize. It’s catchy enough though and I think nothing of it when Anissa leans towards me. Her small frame presses into me, chest to back, as we dance. The beat is hypnotic, easy to get swept up by, but the dance is dirty, sensual as we move.

Around us, lights flash. They douse the patio in a variety of colors. Red and yellow and blue lights sweep the patio, sometimes blending into green and orange and purple. I look up towards the dark night sky, eyes catching on the stars as other bodies surround us, dancing along to the same beat.

Anissa’s giggle is almost lost in the sea of dancing bodies as she stumbles, legs tangling under her. The slap of her wing against my chin is the only thing that catches my attention in time to save her. I pull her close, wrapping my arms around her and hoping I don’t get dragged down with her as the world tilts dangerously.

“Easy,” Ken mutters appearing next to us just in time to save us both. His hand wraps around my arm, trusting my grip on Anissa as he hauls us upright. I let go of Anissa as he hands me a red cup, contents sloshing over the side. “This is why I told you not to wear heels.”

“Technically, I’m wearing booties, not heels,” I tell Kenny, words only just shy of a full on slur as I take a deep gulp from my cup.

_Sex on the beach._

My favorite.

“Heels are heels,” Ken counters as he pulls a beer bottle from my hands. His bottle. The one he left me holding while he went for my refill. It’s still cold, wet even and I wipe my fingers across my thighs to dry them before I remember that they’re bare.

I grimace as the cold water quickly turns biting in the freezing night. The alcohol in my system numbs the worst of it though. It’s the only reason my teeth aren’t chattering as I tip back my drink, ice cubes clattering in the cup.

“You didn’t get me anything,” Anissa just realizes, pout on her lips as she stares down into her empty cup. It’s dry, has been for a while, and I’m amazed she’s only just realized it.

“No more alcohol for you,” Ken says, so matter of fact that Anissa doesn’t fight him. She just shrugs and goes back to dancing, swaying her hips without a care in the world. The white jagged edges of her dress’ handkerchief skirt swinging across her thighs. Revealing a tantalizing amount of pale skin that gives oglers a serious eyeful.

_I can only imagine the back view._

Snickering into my cup, I meet Ken’s exasperated eyes. Clearly he’s too sober to watch his little sister be drooled after if the way he keeps her in his sights is anything to go by. Other than to refill my drink, he hasn’t strayed from our side. Not that there hasn’t been offers from eager girls wishing to get to know the blue-eyed, blonde, six foot cowboy.

Literally.

_He’s dressed as a cowboy._

There’d been many girls. All strolling up to him in skimpy costumes and six inch heels and oozing sexual appeal by the bucket load. But Ken had turned them down with polite stammering and a heavy blush on his cheeks. Poor boy had absolutely no idea how to deal with the opposite sex.

_We’ll fix that someday._

“Jen?”

I turn towards the voice, not recognizing it at all but curious as to who could be calling my name here of all places. At a party where I know next to no one but the people I came with, I really hadn’t expected to be recognized. I’m honestly just here for the free booze. No one can turn down getting fucked up on someone else’s dime.

The owner of the voice towers over me, dressed in tan slacks and a white button down. A well fitted one that hugs his chest, leaving nothing to the imagination. He’s well built, muscular. His forearms strain the rolled up sleeves of his shirt almost to their limits and I can’t help but think it wouldn’t be a shame for them to tear.

Eyes going up, I search his face, hoping to put a name to it so I won’t have to flounder through a conversation with someone I can’t name. It’s with mild shock that I realize he’s handsome. Strong jaw line covered by a neatly trimmed beard and straight nose. Light green eyes rest under neat eyebrows, kept as clean and trim as the rest of him. Yet, light as they may be, they seem to glow. The color enhanced by the red-ish orange of his hair.

_I’ve never met a ginger who looked this damn good before._

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” he asks, lips pulling into a rueful smile. It’s then that my eyes spot the scar, kept hidden from view by his mustache. It’s a thin little thing that runs across his top lip only but with enough impact to deform his smile.

_Cleft lip._

And it reminds me of another smile, one just as deformed as this one. On a tall, thin boy with not an ounce of muscle on his body. All lean frame and pale skin but no less fierce and never willing to give an inch. It reminds me of smug smiles and cocky smirks on a boy who thought he was too good for this world. And it all melds together. As I watch the stocky man in front of me, I can recall the lanky boy he used to be.

“Ronnie?” I ask. The surprise in my voice is not at all hidden. I blame it on the alcohol fogging my mind as my eyes trail down again, all but drinking him in. “Well, no shit I couldn't recognize you,” I tell him as I try playing my ogling off as anything but. "Have you been working out? You look amazing.”

Try being the key word.

_I need to learn to keep my drunken mouth shut._

“Never thought I’d see the day you would pay me a compliment,” Ronnie says, rueful smile still in place. It pulls my attention back to the scar on his lips and I can’t decide if it takes away from his handsomeness or adds to it. It gives him a more rugged look that’s for sure. It takes away from his clean, cut persona in a not so bad way. “It might rain.”

Adds; it definitely adds to it.

“If it does then I’m getting my ass inside,” I grumble as my eyes turn towards the skies again. “I’m cold and drunk enough as it is. There’s no way I’m going add soaking wet to the list.”

“You’re more than welcomed inside if you’re cold,” Ronnie says and my eyes go back to him. I watch him as he stands there, hands deep in the pockets of his slacks and not a drink in sight.

“You’re not drinking?”

“I just got here,” he admits, ducking his head as one hand goes up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Now that’s not good,” I say, one hand going to my hip as I pout. “You’re the only sober person here. We got to catch you up to the rest of us,” I say, smile coming to my face as I grab his arm. “Come on, I need a refill anyways.”

He allows himself to be dragged along, a deep chuckle coming from his lips. We weave through the crowd effortlessly, arriving to the back door of the house within seconds. The inside of the house is only a few degrees warmer than the patio, but I savor those few degrees as we pad towards the bar.

It’s full, teeming with people waiting to order drinks. I slow down; pulling up beside a girl with cat ears and another with what I assume are mouse ears. I more than willing to wait my turn. Ronnie isn’t though. No, instead he returns the grip on my arm and leads me through the group, pushing through them.

More than a few shouts of outrage sound before they realize it’s Ronnie. After that the crowd practically parts for him. When we reach the bar, he wastes no time. Simply reaches over and pulls two beers from one of the coolers.

“What are you drinking?”

“Sex on the Beach,” I mumble, cheeks heating up despite there being no real reason to be embarrassed over the name of the drink. Ronnie nods, waving a bartender over as he pops open one beer. He drinks it in long pulls while the bartender works on my beverage. More than half is gone when he pulls away to breathe.

“Sorry,” he says, rueful smile back in place as he downs the last of the beer in one pull. I take a closer look at him now, under adequate light. Though the alcohol is nowhere near gone from my body and it still sits like a heavy fog on my mind, I catch sight of the wrinkles on his clothes. “I must look like an alcoholic.” 

“Long day?” I ask instead, placing my cup on the bar just as the bartender hands me a new one. He doesn’t answer, just nods his head as he begins to lead me away from the bar. The hand on the small of my back is strong, warm and I let it lead me as we make our way towards the kitchen. “The party ‘s that way.”

“So it is,” he agrees though he makes no move to change our course. “But it’s cold out there and you’re hardly wearing any clothing as it is.”

“Oh my god, you’re right,” I gasp, unoccupied hand going up to hold my cheek. “Someone stole my pants.”

“For some reason I highly doubt you were wearing pants to begin with,” he says around a laugh.

“Did you just, indirectly, call me a whore?” I ask, mock outrage on my face and in my voice as I pull away from his hand. Whirling around, I can’t help but giggle at the look on his face.

“What—No—I, it’s Halloween and costumes, and pants aren’t usually apart if that. I didn’t mean.”

“Kidding!” I gasp out as full on laughter takes me. Leaning against the kitchen island I gasp out, “I was kidding. Honestly.”

The rueful smile is back as he shakes his head and takes another pull of his beer. I watch him drink, watch as his Adam apple bobs and try to keep from drooling at the sight of him.

“You probably should have gotten another one if you were going to drink it that quickly,” I comment, eyes going back my own drink. It’s a peachy color, more red than orange, hinting at too much cranberry juice but I’m past the point of caring as I tip it back. There’s enough Vodka in it to burn as it goes down.

“I’m not really looking to get drunk,” Ronnie says as he places the half empty bottle on the kitchen island. Relaxing against it he says, “Just looking to take the edge off.”

“We’ll, I’m here to get fucked up,” I tell him, drunken giggles breaking through when he gives me an incredulous look. “I’ve earned it.”

“What could possibly have you so worked up?”

“You have no idea.”

“Tell me then,” he says, all relaxed and soothing and I do.

I open my big, drunk mouth and tell him all about the lost stranger who ended up in my home.

“So he broke in and you fed him…” Ronnie says slowly to make sure he heard me correctly. “Well, no one can ever say you don’t help the needy.”

Though I make sure to leave out anything Assassin’s Creed related.

“Oh. It wasn’t like that,” I correct him, waving away his praise as I take another sip of my drink. “He was hardly poor. Just a foreigner that didn’t know where the hell he was.”

“That’s still doesn’t explain why you took responsibility of him instead of calling the cops.”

“I could hardly call the cops,” I scoff, shaking my head at the idea. “What kind of person would I be if I sent a poor, lost soul to jail for walking in through the wrong door?”

“Exactly,” he sings songs, smile on his lips as he finishes off his beer. “You’re a good person.”

“Oh, hush you,” I tell him, my own rueful smile in place. “Enough about me. What have you been up to?”

“A lot,” he says, eyes shifting away from me as his smile drops, face hardening. His body goes tense, the relax demeanor dropping away even as he goes to lean against the kitchen island. “What’s it been? Three years?”

I nod, too weary of the look on his face to give a verbal reply. His eyes go to the bottle on the counter, his hands following after to hold it. He spins it once, nearly sending it toppling over before he grabs it and spins it again.  

“Three years…,”he whispers, eyes still on the spinning bottle. Maybe it’s the alcohol in my body, but I have no idea what we’re talking about anymore. Nor why his face takes on an almost mournful look before his eyes snap back to me. “My dad passed away? You heard about that, right?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, voice soft as I recall the news. It’d been no more than a year ago, on the eve of spring. The morning had been wet the day of the funeral. Soggy and horrid and fitting for such a occasion. “I went to the funeral.”  

We don’t turn to lighter topics after that. Ronnie goes on to tell me the aftermath of that day. About inheriting his father’s company and struggling to prove himself as something more than the (late) boss’ son. He tells me everything and there’s such a sense of relief about him, as if he’s finally getting everything off his chest, that I can’t bring myself to change the topic.

I let him rant, giving my thoughts only when asked and humming at all the right places. Though when he finally goes silent I have no idea what to say. Or how to start the conversation up again. Instead we lapse into silence, my eyes glued onto the drink in my hands as he finally finishes off his beer.

“It’s been three years,” he says suddenly, shattering the silence. “Have you had enough time to think about it?”

Everything in me wants to ask, _‘think about what?”_ but I manage to hold the words back. Stalling for time, I press my cup to my lips and pretend to take a long drink from it as I tip it back. The liquid is cool against my upper lip as I hold it there. Every breath through my nose brings the scent of orange and cranberry and peach and vodka as I wrack my brain for any clue as to what he’s talking about.

He sees through the ruse. I know he does when his eyes go back to his bottle, the corner of his lips pulling down farther than they already are. Slowly, I pull the cup from my lips, tongue going out absentmindedly to swipe at my upper lip.

“Three years…,” I whisper, hoping to spark a memory but none come.

“Three years waiting for you to answer my proposal,” he whispers, pushing away from the kitchen island, rueful smile back in place. It’s different though, more bitter than apologetic as one hand comes up to rub at his neck again. “I’m such a fool. I honestly thought—” he cuts off abruptly, a snort passing through his nose as he shakes his head in disbelief. “A fucking fool…”

“You thought what?”

“I thought you had come back,” he says, gaze on the ground. Even then I can see the pain in them. “I thought you had come back for me, not this stupid party.”

It’s the heart break in his words that does it. It jump starts the gears in my brain, clears the fog of alcohol enough for me to remember that night. That cold winter night, on the hood of his car, shivering our asses of but no less eager to watch the stars, and the words whispered in foggy breathes.

_“Marry me?”_

“We were children, Ronnie,” I say, standing up straight. The memory comes like a bucket of cold water, seeming to sober me up instantly. The shock comes full force but it’s not nearly enough to hold my tongue. No, nothing’s ever been enough to hold it. “You can’t tell me that you were serious about that.”

_“You’re crazy. We aren’t even dating.”_

He says nothing to that but his eyes burn into me. They lock onto mine, pinning me in place and refusing to let me go. The determination in them is cause for concern. It speaks of a man not willing lose though I can’t tell what game he’s playing at.

_“You don’t need to be dating to fall in love.”_

And it is a game. It has to be. Why else would he bring this up, now? Of all times. He knows where I live, knows where to find me on most days, if not all. He could have made a call, sent a message, made a god damn house visit if he so wishes. It would have all been a better way to go about this. So why here? Why when I’m drunk and confused and nowhere clear-head enough for logical thinking.

_When I’m alone._

“You’ve seen him, haven’t you?” I ask, voice taking a chilled note that even an idiot wouldn’t miss. The calm I portray in that moment is fake. It takes every ounce of acting skill I have to school my features and body language into bored and disinterested. “You’ve seen Altaïr.”      

“That name means nothing to me but if you’re talking about your new boyfriend,” Ronnie says, voice nonchalant though his eyes go hard. “Then yes, yes I have and I don’t quite like the thought of my future wife gallivanting around with another man.”

“Fuck off, Ronnie,” I tell him as I push past him. “I’ll never be your wife.”

I make it all the way to patio before he stops me. Meaty hand wrapping around my upper arm, he jerks me to a stop, uncaring that I’m not sober enough for such a move not to have consequences.

The peachy concoction in in my cup sails out of it, flying through the air with only one intended causality and it’s not me.

It’s Ronnie.

_Oh shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all these filler chapters but I really feel that it's important for you guys to have more info on Ken and Jen. I promise we'll be back to the Assassin-y Goodness by next the chapter


	24. Ch 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Once again his words lack heat. They’re practice, rehearsed, and Ezio wonders how many times they’ve had this very conversation in the years past. Dozens he’s sure. And it’s always the same. Running to his rescue like a fool only to be chastised in the end. ___
> 
> _When had he become so bitter?_
> 
> _When had this distance between them appeared? Small as it is, it’s there and he can’t figure out how to cross it. Not when Leonardo throws all his attention on his inventions, seemingly unaware of the growing chasm between them or simply unwilling to close the gap and restrengthen their friendship._

**_Ezio POV_ **

He watches him. Brown eyes track the blonde man moving across the room as he leans against a work bench. It’s just as cluttered as the rest of room. The rickety wooden bench bows under the weight of dozens of half-finished contraptions. None of which he can make out the purpose of.

“You worry too much,” the blonde man says, words casual as he moves towards his leaning form. The blonde’s arms strain under the weight of some invention and he straightens to help the blonde only to be met with glaring blue eyes. They lack any real heat but he still backs away, arms raised. “Honestly, Ezio, I can fend for myself just fine.”

“Is it so bad to worry about you, Leonardo?” Ezio asks as he slumps against a wooden column. If there is a pout on his lips, Leonardo says nothing of it as he shuffles his inventions around to make room for his blueprints on the already straining bench.

“It is, when you forget that I survived twenty-four years on my own before you crashed into my life,” Leonardo scolds him. Once again his words lack heat. They’re practice, rehearsed, and Ezio wonders how many times they’ve had this very conversation in the years past.

_Dozens he’s sure._

“You would be broke without me,” Ezio reminds him, eye trailing over the other’s back as Leonardo turns his attention to his blue prints. If this is his way of telling Ezio he’s done with their conversation, Ezio ignores it as he asks, “How many clients is it now that I have had to _convince_ that paying for their commissions would be a far better option than the alternative?”

_And it’s always the same._

“I might be more grateful for your help if your forms of convincing clients didn’t leave them bloody and too scare to attempt approaching me again,” Leonard says, too distracted to hide the slight tone resentment from his words. “Your methods tend to rob me of my cliental.”

_Running to his rescue like a ~~lovesick~~ fool only to be chastised in the end.   _

It’s only his familiarity with this conversation that stops Ezio from replying. The anger pooling in his gut is small. He’s more offended than angry but even so he knows whatever comes out of his mouth now won’t be nice.

_“And yet you always come crying to me to with all your problems.”_

It never has been.

His reply will be vile and sharp. They’ll be words meant to hurt Leonardo for hurting him. Petty. So instead he says nothing as he continues to lean against the column. Silence falls around them then and Leonardo makes no move to break it. Instead he continues to scribble away, unaware that Ezio’s broken the cycle.

That he won’t spit out something hurtful and storm off until Leonard calls for his aid again. Well, not call but hint. Just a few words implying all is not well, because that’s all it takes. Just one letter suggesting difficulties but ending with a plea not to worry. That everything will be fine and that there is absolutely no need for Ezio to race down to Venice to sort things out for him. He’ll be fine on his own. He always has been.

If it was anyone else, Ezio would call manipulation, but this is Leonardo. Sweet, innocent Leonardo whose words probably have no deeper meaning. Who probably doesn’t mean to worry him sick when he writes about those clients who skip paying for their commissions, leaving him without the coin to purchase new materials? Or about a random guard that has taking to harassing him but instead just means to let Ezio know what’s going on in his absence.  

Because Leonardo _isn’t_ capable of manipulation. He just isn’t. For a man as smart as he is, he wears his heart on his sleeves, open for anyone and everyone to see. And a person like that isn’t capable of using those around him for his own benefits. Never mind that Leonardo has continued to stand by him even after his many stints as a wanted man.

Leonardo wouldn’t manipulated him.

So then why is it that every time Ezio comes to his aid, Leonardo reprimands him for his efforts and tells him not to do it again? Better yet, if his efforts are truly unappreciated why does he keep bothering to come back?

_‘Because he’s my friend,’_ Ezio chastises himself as he cashes that thought away. It has no right to be in his mind. Not after everything Leonardo has done for him. The guilt and shame that fills him then is almost crippling.

_When had he become so bitter?_

When had things gotten to the point where every visit to Leonardo’s ended in a spat? When had this distance between them appeared? Small as it is, it’s there and Ezio can’t figure out how to cross it. Not when Leonardo throws all his attention on his inventions, seemingly unaware of the growing chasm between them or simply unwilling to close the gap and restrengthen their friendship.  

“Sorry,” Ezio says, voice no more than a whisper but Leonardo hears it. He stands up, an inquiring hum and his lips as he throws Ezio a puzzled look over his shoulder. “I’m sorry for…upsetting you.”

Pushing off the wooden column, Ezio doesn’t wait for a reply as he moves towards the exit.

“Ezio?”

“I’ll be heading back to Monteriggioni now.”

~oOo~

**_Jen POV_ **

_‘What’s the worst that could happen?’_

I’m an idiot.

Mentally impaired.

A few French fries short of a Happy Meal.

As I stare at the mess in front of me, thinking about the quickest and most effected way to escape, I realize that I’d brought this upon us.

I just had to go challenge The Power of Worst, didn’t I?

_“Jen!”_

The music cuts off abruptly even as the bodies in the middle of the patio continue to sway to it’s beat. Drowning the room in silence so Ken’s hiss, aiming for quiet, is heard by all. Loud as it echoes back at me while many eyes stare at me in varying states of shock.

The last cold from the cup in my limp grip bleeds into me then. Traveling through my fingers, up my arm, and fusing with the cold dread that runs down my spine as what remains of the cup’s content continues to run down my fingers, pooling on the ground.

There’s fire in his gaze. Green eyes burning with an intensity I’ve never seen before as the normally cocky demeanor drops. Bleeds away. Leaving behind a tense frame, clench fists, and a once roguishly handsome face twisted in anger.

All gritted teeth, furrowed brows, and snarled lips. Not even soaking wet, orange strands of wet hair framing his face as the drink saturates deeper into his shirt and pale skin, lessens the sense of danger. He is well and truly pissed off and with good reason too.

The sound of skin hitting skin reaches my ears long before the pain hits me. Head snapping the side, it’s a miracle I mange to stay on my feet. I can do nothing but focus on the feet of all those gathered around me as the shock flows through me.

He hit me.

_He fucking hit me._

The shock gasps around me seem to echo the sentiment.

_How did I get here?_

Heat blossoms across my cheek. Not even the alcohol in my body can keep it away. I’m sure my cheek is a bright red but not even the pain stops me from returning my gaze to him. I don’t coward. Instead I straighten back up and meet his glare head on, ready to tear into him.

Ken is on him before I can say anything. He races by in a streak of fury as he pulls his fist back and swings.  Ronnie is sent sprawling to the floor, dazed and shock, before I can fully process what is happening. But I see the blood bubble from his broken nose and drip into his beard before I realize this is all rather some kind of ridiculous.

Three grown adults, all twenty-something years old, squabbling like a bunch of high schoolers. Over what? A marriage that was proposed on the hood of a car, in the dead of the night, by a teenager not yet old enough to buy a pack of smokes? The ridiculousness in that question alone is enough to steal any fight from my bones.

Still, it doesn’t stop me from tossing my cup onto Ronnie’s prone body.

“Let’s get out of here,” I tell Ken, voice nonchalant as I tear my gaze away from Ronnie. Deliberately tossing my hair over my shoulder, I walk past Ronnie with my chin held high, dismissing him. The sound of my platform booties against the concrete floor echoes loudly in the silence. “I don’t want to have to deal with all this high school drama.”

Ken agrees with a grunt, saying nothing on the matter as he follows after me. Anissa stands amongst the crowd of stun people but she scurries after us when she sees us heading towards the door. We make it to the driveway before we’re stopped.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ronnie asks, voice hoarse. Blood still dripping from his noise, he calls after us. We keep walking, paying him no mind as Ken ushers a still fairly drunk Anissa between us. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

“And you will hear from ours as well,” Ken answers, easily playing the rich boy game as he turns back to Ronnie. He knows the game, has played it more than once before. He knows that those rich enough to afford it can wave threats of lawyers and lawsuits around to intimate others. Nothing gets you what you want faster than threatening to sue. “Though, I wonder if I should just go right to Corporate with this? Surely they’ll love to hear about this _Scandal_?”

There’s a long, quiet moment where Ken and Ronnie stare each other down, weighing their options. I use the opportunity to get Anissa to slip out of her high heels before she becomes acquainted with the floor. One of us having a beat up face is more than enough.

“Let’s go,” Ken says when Ronnie doesn’t reply to his threats. No one follows after us again as we make our way home. The walk is short, ten minutes at most and we walk most of it in silence. It’s not until we’re three houses away from mine that Ken speaks. “He won’t call his lawyer.”

“How’d you know?” Anissa asks, peering up at him with blood shot eyes, strappy high heels hanging from one hand as she pads along on bare feet. She looks like an outright drunk mess. I just hope that tomorrow’s hangover won’t kill her.

Thank God it’s the weekend.

“He’s been having trouble keeping control of his father’s company,” I tell her as I press gently against the blossoming bruise on my cheek. The touch of ice cold fingers on the heated flesh feels wonderful and I almost moan at the sensation. “They think he’s too young and childish. If they get wind of a scandal, corporate might just finally have the leverage to takeover.”

“We should tell ‘em,” Anissa says, all righteous fiery and I take a moment to stare at her in amazement. She knows how to play the rich boy game too, I remind myself. While, Ronnie’s family is the richest on the block, the Chase family’s finical status is nothing to scoff about. 

“Anissa, no.”

“Why not, Ken?” she ask, pout on her lips as she crosses her arm. “The asshole deserves it.”

“Yes, he’s an asshole,” I agree, carefully choosing my next words so even a drunk Anissa will understand them. “But we don’t fuck up people’s lives. We get even.”

“And breaking his nose was definitely even,” Ken agrees proudly as he flexes his hand. The knuckles are red. One or two are busted, but the blood has long since clotted, stopping the bleeding and beginning to scab over.

“Then how do we get our revenge?”

“Revenge?” Ken squeaks as he stops Anissa with a hand on her shoulder. He turns her towards him, eyes firmly locked on hers as he asks, “Who said anything about revenge?”

“We’re not getting revenge?”

“Drunk Anissa is bloodthirsty,” I say around a slightly hysterical chuckle. Slipping my arm through Anissa’s, I pull her out from under Ken’s grip before he can start lecturing her about how revenge is never a good option. It’ll be a long lecture, I’m sure, and, with only a few steps left to home, I really would rather have this conversation indoors. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“So no revenge.”

“I’m afraid not,” I tell her as we reach my house. Even though it’s well past midnight, the lights are on but with the hours we keep, it’s not unusual. “Dear ol’ Karma will just have to make sure Ronnie gets what’s coming to him.”

“Hopefully it’s a bus.”

“That would kill him,” Ken says, voice wary, as I fish the keys out of my pocket to unlock the door. “And, all things considered, I don’t think he deserves to die for hitting Jen.”

The door is thrown open before I can even find the correct key, drowning us in light. It blinds us for a few seconds before it’s blocked out by a figure. A big, hulking, fuming figure.

“Who hit Jen?”

Ezio’s voice is a growl. Deep and raspy and promising an eternity of pain. Even then, Anissa swoons, letting out a soft coo as she takes in six foot something of utterly pissed off Italian, Master Assassin. It’s only my arm linked with hers that keeps her from turning to putty on the floor.

“No one did,” I deny even though the evidence is bright red and burning on my face. Ezio zeros in on it instantly. One big hand goes up to cup my chin, turning my face so he can get a better look. “I just fell.”

“That would explain the hand print,” Ezio deadpans as he turns my face back towards him. Brown eyes lock on to mine, serious for once as he holds my gaze. “Just say the word and I will gut him.”

“And now I need to change my panties.”

“And then you will end up in jail,” I remind him as I pull away from his grip to throw my arms around him. Leaving Anissa and her apparently wet panties to fend for themselves, I burrow into Ezio’s warmth. “Welcome home.”

“Home? He lives here? I want to live here.”

“I’ve never been caught before,” Ezio says as he pulls away to drag Ken into a hug. Taking Anissa’s hand in mine, I drag her into the house before she can butt into their hug and demand her own. “You better hope that bruise fades away before Altaïr gets back.”

“That’s why we’ll tell Altaïr I fell,” I throw over my shoulder. Leaving Anissa in the living room, I make my way into the kitchen and fill up a plastic baggie with ice to press it against my cheek. It soothes the burn as I make my way back into the living room. “So what happen with Leonardo?”

“Just a client that needed a bit more convincing than most to fork up payment for their commissions,” Ezio says, his voice drenched in amusement and I find out why when I round the corner to find little Anissa snugly wrapped around him. “And who is this?”

Ken buries his head in his hands, an embarrassed groan tumbling from his lips as he slumps onto the love-seat.

“Ken’s sister, Anissa,” I tell him, watching as Anissa tries to burrow into his chest, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist even though his belt has to be digging into her skin. Ezio has his arms awkwardly raised in the air, unsure whether to return the hug or not. “She’s a bit drunk.”

“A bit?”

“Okay, she’s wasted but that’s neither here nor there,” I tell him as I pry her off him when it looks like Ken’s not going to. Not that I blame him, he’s done more than his fair of babysitting her tonight. “Time for bed, Anissa. You can hug him all you want tomorrow.”

She comes along reluctantly, grumbling all the way about never getting to do anything fun. I usher her to my room, before she can do anything to embarrass herself further. I highly doubt she’ll be able to look Ezio in the face tomorrow. If she even remembers tonight that is.

She needs no prompting to shuck off her costume. The white, feathered wings go sailing across the room before I even mention changing. Following her lead, I slip out of my booties. Flexing my sore toes, I slip off my black and red striped dress.

“You’re too pretty to be a witch,” Anissa slurs and I turn from pulling on a big, baggy t-shirt to find her sprawled on her stomach, sans pajamas. She lays on my bed in nothing more than her underwear and I debate the pros and cons on getting her to throw something on before I realize it’s not worth the hassle.

“Go to sleep,” I say instead as I pick up her discarded costume and toss it into a corner.

“Gotta charge my leg,” she argues even though she makes no move to do just that. Instead she burrows deeper into the pillows, humming happily.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Throwing a blanket over her, I tuck her in. She’s asleep before it even settles over her, dead to the world. She’s going to need all the sleep she can get so I try to keep all noise to a minimum as I finish getting ready.

Her prosthetic lies abandoned at the foot of the bed. I know nothing about them but I can imagine it’s a more expensive model—one capable of adjusting to high heels. That and something tells me Victoria wouldn’t approve of anything less than the latest model.

Pulling the charger from her backpack, I connect it to an outlet and lean it against the wall. Leaving it well within Anissa’s reach, I exit the room. Ezio’s and Ken’s voices flow in from the living room, a whisper on the wind that I can’t make out.

After a quick pit stop at the restroom, I head towards them. Fully intending to spend a few more moments with Ezio before letting sleep claim me. I’m stopped though. As I round the corner into the living room, the scene I walk into, has me automatically shrinking back, staying out of sight as I quietly watch.

Not that there’s much to watch. Just Ken and Ezio on the couch, heads bent together as they whisper to each other. The smile on Ezio’s face is visible as he chuckles. As is the warmth in his eyes that makes me feels as if I’m intruding on a private moment.

“Don’t worry I got him,” Ken says, looking down at his busted knuckles. They skin there is still red, both from dried blood and slight swelling. There’s an open first aid kit beside them and Ezio pulls a few things from it as Ken says, “Broke his nose, too.”

“Did you?” Ezio asks, more pride in his voice than doubt as he takes Ken’s hand into his. Running a disinfecting towelette over his knuckles, he cleans up the blood from Ken’s hand and carefully covers up the busted knuckles with Band-Aids.

“Yes,” Ken says, the answering smile on his face melting my heart as he shoves Ezio when he catches the doubt in his words. There’s no force behind the shove, but Ezio still lets it move him. Another chuckle tumbles from his lips as Ken huffs. “I did, that’s why Jen won’t let you go after him.”

Unsure of where their conversation is going and not really interested in lingering any longer, I pad back into my room. Turning off the lights, I crawl into bed and nod off to the sounds of muffled conversation and Anissa’s soft snores.

Though I’m woken up not too long after by a jab to the ribs.

“Jen, get up,” Anissa whimpers, nudging me awake with another jab of her sharp elbow. “Seriously, get up. I don’t feel good.”

“What?” I mumble, peering through sleepy eyes at Anissa. She’s curled into ball, arms firmly wrapped around her stomach as she continues to whimper. Sitting up, I look her over, trying to figure out what’s wrong just as she gags.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Anissa, wait!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised Assassins and I (kind of) delivered. I even threw in some Leonardo for you guys too! I'll admit the thing with Ronnie was kind of anti-climatic but it was never going to be anything too dramatic. So I'm sorry if anyone was too upset by that. Anyways, thank you for reading. 
> 
> \--Trixy


	25. Ch 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Our whole lives we are told that nothing comes before the order. That there is no greater glory than dying for what we believe in. They rob us of our fear of death. Force us to face it again and again until we can stare into the eyes of Death and welcome it with open arms. And, without a fear of Death, we become reckless."_

 

My stomach churns with every step, protesting with loud gurgles that echo in the otherwise quiet hall. Holding back a burp that will no doubt taste like the regrets of last night, I trudge on. Miraculously I manage to put one foot in front of the other without my knees buckling.

Though each step sends jolts of pain up my legs, along my spine, and directly to my throbbing head. In the back of my mind I wonder why I thought drinking so much last night had be a good idea. Especially when I have so much I need to get done today. With narrowed eyes, I thank The Maker that the halls are lit with torches and not the fluorescent bulbs of home. 

_Bright lights would definitely do nothing to help my hangover._

The trek up the hill had been hell but I had trudged one. Despite my rolling stomach and throbbing head, I had made my way to the fortress because I really need to talk to Malik. I’ve put it off too long. So I trace my way back to Malik’s room through memory alone. Though, when memory fails, innate stubbornness keeps me going. Positive that I’ve taken the same path Odell lead me down, I stop at the unassuming wooden door and knock. The relief that fills me when Malik opens said door is nearly overwhelming even though I’m met with harsh words.

“What do you want?”

Malik’s face is nowhere near welcoming. There’s a scowl on it as he pulls the door open and I don’t blame him. Tired, brown eyes are narrowed into slits as he glares down at me. I fidget under his gaze, unsure how to reply to that because, for all that I planned to come visit him, I hadn’t quite figured out what to do  _about_ him.

“I need to talk to you,” I tell him, keeping the uncertainty out of my voice as I nod towards his room. Though he stands in the doorway, he doesn’t block it, allowing me to see the bags piled besides the door. “If you have the time, that is.”

_The packs._

He’ll be leaving soon. He arrives at Jerusalem before Altaïr, setting up shop just as Altaïr’s sent to hunt down Talal. With Altaïr due back home any day now, Malik should be leaving soon. Eyes still on the packs by the floor, I wonder if it won’t be today.

“Talk?” Malik questions, confused. Eyes narrowing further, he takes a better look at me. And I must be a sight to see. In the same pink tunic as always, my hair in a truly messy ponytail, dark circles under my eyes that no amount of make-up could cover—not that I'd even actually tried—and as pale as a ghost. I’m not under the impression that I don’t look like I’m about to keel over at any second. Though, if Malik sees it, it doesn’t soften his words. “You, I remember you. You are that bastard’s apprentice.”

There’s fury in his voice, hot and thick and I’m amazed he doesn’t slam the door in my face. Instead he continues to watch me, scrutinizing me. I say nothing. Even with the headache threatening to bring me to my knees, I hold my chin up high as his eyes run over me from head to toe. He’s sizing me up and I refuse to back down. Shoulders set, I steel myself for the argument that will no doubt come if he refuses to listen to me.

Never mind that I don’t know what I will tell him.

“While I am not inclined to deal with anything relating to that miserable excuse of an Assassin, I have a feeling you will not leave until you have said all that you have come to say,” he says when he spots the determination on my face. His voice turns wary as the scowl drops from his face. Stepping back, he motions me into his room with his only hand. “Come in and say your piece so we can be done with this.”

“You might not like what I have to say,” I warn him as I make my way into his room. The knickknacks once decorating the room are gone, leaving the dresser tops bare and giving the room an unlived in atmosphere. He’s definitely leaving soon.

“I do not doubt that,” he says, words distant as he stares hard at the packs by the door. “Everyone only ever brings bad news to my door nowadays.”

Unsure of what to reply to that, I keep quiet. I’m so out of depth at the moment that I struggle between offering my condolences, or simply ignoring it and moving on to a different topic altogether.

I can never seem to decide what to do when it comes to Malik. Half of me wants to bundle him up in a blanket and protect him from the world. The other half, the one that knows that I’ll probably be met with some resistance from Malik himself, wants nothing more than to be there for him.

To provide a shoulder to lean on and listen to his troubles and fill that empty spot next to him that Kadar’s death has left behind.

_He has no one else._

So many Assassins are orphans. Their parents having given up their life’s for The Brotherhood at one point or another and Malik is no different. His parents are gone and, now, so is his brother. Even well into his adult years, I’m sure it has to hurt to be alone. I can’t imagine having to face the world on my own.

_And I don’t want him to._

“It might be raining now, but a storm can’t last forever,” I tell him as my eyes go to the pack. They linger there, unwilling to rise to Malik’s face in fear of what I might find there. “Stay strong. You’re still needed Malik.”

“What do you know?” he asks. There’s no fire in his words, only bone-deep wariness as he moves towards one of the beds and takes a seat. “You are just an apprentice and an outsider on top of it all. You are new to our way of life. You cannot possibly know that.”

“I know more than you would think,” I tell him, words lacking any heat. I’m too tired, too sluggish, to dreg up the proper emotion to go with those words. Instead, I move towards the dresser when I no longer think I can stand on my own and slump against it.

“Then you would know that I am useless now,” he says, words almost a whisper as he runs his hand through his shaggy black hair. Slouching over, the same hand comes up to hold what’s left of his left arm. If there’s anything left.

The silence stretches then as I wrack my brain for something to say to that. It’s a hard feat to accomplish when my brain refused to think of anything other than curling up on the nearest surface and passing out. I managed to find the words though, but Malik beats me to the punch.

“It was my first year, you know,” he says, breaking the silence. His eyes are trained on the floor, hand still clutching his shoulder as he says, “The Master had only just elevated me to Master Assassin a few months back. Kadar was so happy, he wanted to celebrate. I told him we should wait. After all, it’s not becoming a Master Assassin that’s important.

“No, it is surviving your first year that is the real accomplishment,” he says, head bowed and voice low and a part of me, the still tipsy part of my brain, wonders when the conversation turned so deep. “Did you know most do not make it through it? They try so hard to train us, to prepare us for anything that might come our way but most never make it to the end of the first year. The Grand Master claims the will of God. That fate has taken them. Me? I blame recklessness.

“Our whole lives we are told that nothing comes before the order. That there is no greater glory than dying for what we believe in,” he says, still not looking up. “They rob us of our fear of death. Force us to face it again and again until we can stare into the eyes of Death and welcome it with open arms. They take from us the only thing that could ever make us stop and think of the results our actions will breed. After all, death is the greatest consequence.

“And, without a fear of Death, we become reckless. We dive head first into battle and cut down anyone that stands in our way,” he says. “We become like your precious Mentor and so many lives are lost because of it. Those that aren’t killed through their reckless actions. That somehow make it through the first year are left crippled, both physically and emotionally.

“With everything rob from them, they’re often left unable to form connections with the world around them. Leaving them distant and cold and ruthless. Like Altaïr and Abbas and…me,” he whispers, eyes finally leaving the floor as they lock on to me. “And sometimes I can’t help but wonder if we wouldn’t be better off dead?”

“I…I, Malik,” I mumble, not knowing what to say as my mind reels from information over load. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m saying,” he begins, gaze once again dropping to the floor, “That with only one arm left, alone in this world, and unable to serve The Brotherhood in the only way I’ve been trained to since birth, killing me would be more of a mercy.”

“Don’t say that,” I whisper back, heat pooling in my stomach and warming my words. This time my narrowed eyes have nothing to do with my throbbing head. “Don’t ever fucking say that.”

“It is the truth.”

“It’s fucking bullshit, is what it is,” I hiss, pushing off the dresser and moving to stand in front of him. My words are harsh, coated in anger and disbelief that he, of all people, would say that. But my hands are gentle as they cup his face. Tilting his head up, I make sure to hold his gaze as I say, “Listen to me Malik, you are not like that. You are not cold, you are not ruthless, and you are not alone.”

“What do you know? You have no hope of ever becoming a Master,” he says, pulling away from my grip. There’s no anger in his words, no heat or fire but I still back away, stung. He sees the hurt on my face, knows that his words smarted, but he doesn’t take them back. Instead he stands, a slump to his shoulders as he goes to the pack by the door. “I hope, one day, that you will come to realize that I did not say that out of spite.”

I say nothing as I watch him throw the packs onto his back. Nor do I move to help him even though I know I probably should. Instead I just stand there, endless thoughts circling in my head, as I watch Malik hoist the pack onto his good shoulder and walks out the door.

_This won’t be the end of this._

No, I won’t let it be. Malik may be knees deep in his pity party but I’ll be damned if he thinks I’m really going to let it continue. Of course, I realize he’ll eventually pull himself out of it on his own but I prefer sooner rather than later. Especially if I’m gearing up to bring him in on the whole  _‘Saving-the-World-Thing’_ and possibly have him outfitted with a prosthetic arm. I’m not too sure how we might benefit from having Malik know about the swirls but I figure he could be of some help. 

_Besides Altaïr without Malik at his side is like Ezio without Leonardo._

Unthinkable.

Though with Malik no doubt on his way to Jerusalem at the moment, there’s only going to be one way for me to have another talk with him. Looks like it’s finally time for a real God Damn adventure. And no one is going to stop me. 

Mind made, I finally make my way back home. More than ready to crawl back into bed and sleep the rest of this hangover off, I head directly towards the swirl even though I know I should probably check in on Odell. The last two times I saw him haven’t exactly left me feeling all that great.

_Something’s going on there._

Whatever it is, I don’t think it’ll be good. Still, I push those worrying thoughts aside as I climb up the ladder. Pausing on the roof, I take in the bustling city, admiring it the view for a few minutes before jumping back home.

The attic is empty when I land in the pillow pit. The computers are off and the only light in the room is the one that filters in through the tiny attic window. I take a moment to just lie there. Melting into the pillows, I let my eyes close and finally let loose that god damn burp that taste of nothing but cranberry and vodka and bad decisions.

“Kill me,” I mumble as I rub my head. Finally surrendering to the full effect of the hangover, I curl up into a ball and whimper in misery. A little melodramatic, I know but I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. Believe it or not, wallowing in my misery while curled up on a pile of pillows actually does make me feel the tiniest bit better.

I’m not sure how long I lay there, eyes shut and arms wrapped around my stomach. A part of me realizes I’m dozing in a particularly hazardous spot but the hungover part of my brain firmly tells it to shut up and let me sleep. And that’s how I end up spending most of the afternoon, only waking up long enough to readjust my position and snuggle deeper into the pillows. 

Though it doesn’t last long. Soon I wake to a full bladder and I have no choice but to finally crawl out of the pit. And crawl I do. There’s nothing dignified about how I pull myself from the pillows. It’s all clumsily fumbling and more whimpers and groans.

It’s slow going but I finally make it out of the pit after a few tries. Getting to my feet I make my way to the nearest bathroom and, after using it, start the trek back to my room. It’s only then that I realize how silent the house is, leaving me to wonder if anyone’s home.

I get my answer when I make it to my room. Pausing to scoop my phone off my desk, I crawl back into bed just as I check my messages.  

_‘Went out for food. Anissa was hungry. Text me when you get back from Masyaf.’_

_— Ken_

I keep my reply sweet and simply as I curl up under the blanket.

_‘I’m home. Gonna knock out. Don’t feed Ezio.’_

Message sent, I push the phone under my pillow and doze off again with the hopes of getting a few decent hours of sleep. But I’m still hungover so it’s no real surprise when I find myself waking again and again. Sometimes I wake overheated, body drenched in sweat as I kick off the blankets. Other times I wake up freezing, the sweat cooling unpleasantly against my skin.

Thankfully my dreams are blissfully empty of fire and ashes and anything Minerva related. Instead, they’re filled with excitement and action and ridiculous scenarios that I forget as soon as I open my eyes. So while sleep comes with starts and stops, I’m not terrorized by nightmares

“I hate my life,” I mumble when I wake up covered in sweat yet again. The room is dark, the sun having set while I was asleep, but this time noises fill the house. Laughter and voices and it’s enough to pull me out of bed. Especially, since I don’t quite feel like death warmed over anymore.

Following the noise of a happy family I stumble into the living room just as the television lights up with the Netflix logo and the lights darken.

“Join us, Jen,” Mother calls, pulling my gaze to her. She lounges in the loveseat, lying across it and leaning into Fathers chest, wrapped snuggly in his arms. Alexis and Ken and Ezio are they’re too, Alexis in the recliner and the others on the couch. They’re all wrapped up in blankets and cozy and I move to join them instantly.

“What movie are we watching?” I ask as I make my way towards the couch. Ken scoots over without any promoting, pulling the blanket on his lap up so I can slip under it.

“No idea,” Anissa chirps from the floor, surprising me as I hadn’t realized she was still here. The coffee table has been pushed to the side, making room for Anissa to spread a blanket on the floor and curl up on it. For some reason, it looks a lot more inviting, so I shake my head at Ken’s offer and drop down next to Anissa. “It’s a Max Mystery Call.”

“Ask Max is choosing for us then?” I ask as I sprawl out on my stomach next to her. She nods her head as she scoots over, lifting the blanket covering her enough for me to crawl under it. “I hope it’s a scary movie.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Mother says as she plops a bowl of Popcorn next to me. Sacrificing the blanket on her lap, she throws it over us. With another blanket in the mix, Anissa takes hers back, rolling herself up into what she deems is a burrito. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much better,” I tell her as I throw some popcorn into my mouth. With Mother’s concern abated we all settle in just as the movie begins to play. “Remind me never to drink that much again, Ken.”

“Don’t worry. I got you.”

The next few hours are spent laughing as Max chooses a truly ridiculous horror movie about sharks getting sucked up into a tornado and wreaking havoc on Southern California. All except Ezio that is. He spends most of the time staring at the screen in confusion and pestering Kenny with whispered questions I can’t make out.

Whatever the questions may be, they don’t seem to annoy Ken. He answers them with a smile, the fond look on his face going unnoticed as Ezio’s gaze never shifts from the screen. My heart twinges at the sight of it though. An uneasy feeling settles in my stuck, thick and heavy, as I realize I might not be the only one in danger of ending up with a broken heart.

Dragging my gaze back to the screen, I try my best to ignore the feeling just as the credits rolls.

“Another?” Alexis asks even as he picks up the remote and moves back to the Ask Max section on Netflix.

“Sure,” Mother answers, still snug in Father’s arms. His blanket is now thrown over both of them, keeping them warm even in the cold winter night. “One more can’t hurt.”

I’m only half aware of the next movie to be played. Head nestled in my arms, I drift off before I can figure out what type of movie we're watching. Though, when Anissa jostles me awake as she curls up into my side with a yelp, I figure it might be a Horror movie.

Ignoring her, I snuggle deeper into my arms and doze off again. It says something about how tired I am that I can fall asleep on the ground with nothing but a blanket to soften the tile flooring. Guess the effects of my hangover aren’t as gone as I thought.

When I wake again, it’s to arms lifting me up and pulling me into a sturdy chest. I throw my arms around the neck of the person holding me without hesitation. Though I do crack my eyes open enough to identify the person carrying me. The room is dark, everyone’s gone off to bed, and the television off. The only light filtering into the room comes from in between the floral curtains but it’s enough. 

“You’re back,” I whisper, closing my eyes again. Confident that I won't be dropped, I nuzzle into his neck.

“I’m home.”

“Welcome home, Altaïr,” I mumble against his neck, lips brushing against his skin. Pressing a light kiss there, I settle into his arms. More than content to be in them. He hums in reply as he carries me to my room.

The gentle rocking almost lulls me back to sleep but I fight against it. Unwillingly to lose anytime with Altaïr to sleep, I wiggle out of his grasp. He places me on my feet easily enough but his arms stay wrapped around me, holding me against his chest.

“You are not about to come to bed covered in the much filth,” I tell him, still nuzzled into his chest even though he reeks of sweat and dirt. It warms my heart to know that coming to find me was a bigger priority than washing off after days spent on the road. “Take a shower. I’ll get you something to sleep in.”

“What happened?” he asks instead, fingers ghosting over the bruise on my cheek. Too eager to feel his touch, I lean into them without really thinking. The fingers against my cheek turns into a hand, cupping my cheek before I can regret the decision.

“I’ll tell you after your shower,” I promise as I finally find the will to push out of his arms. He nods, heading to the bathroom without a fight. Knowing that everything will go a lot quicker of he just takes the shower. Scrounging up a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from Alexis’ room, I place them in the bathroom before he can finish.

That done, I grab a few clean sheets from the cupboards in the laundry room. Figuring a clean, freshly made bed would make a great welcome back present, I decide to change the ones in my room. Anissa and I had slept there last night, both of us reeking of alcohol. While I managed to get Anissa to the restroom last night before she could start blowing chunks all over my bed, the sheets smell faintly of alcohol.

Though, thinking on it some more, I probably need a quick shower of my own. While I don’t quiet reek, I know I smell of booze and sweat.  Not a pleasant sent to come home to, I'm sure. So, grabbing my own set of sleep clothes, I head to the upstairs bathroom and take my own shower.

Finally out of my now signature pink tunic ( _I'm a god damn cartoon character)_ , squeaky clean, and into the biggest, baggiest shirt I own, I pad back to my room.

Making it back before Altaïr, I crawl into the freshly made bed. All but melting against the clean comforter as it slides against my bare legs. With nothing better to do, I pull my phone out from under my pillow and browse through  _9gag_  as I wait. Eyes flickering over the phone, it's with a mild amount of surprise that I realize it's actually six in the morning. I should be sleeping. 

Or, better yet, I should probably be thinking on just how I’ll convince everyone to let me leave with Altaïr to Jerusalem without kicking up a fuss but I figure everyone will be easier to convince if I already have one foot out the door. Not that I actually think they’ll try to stop. While they might worry, they novelty of the swirls has mostly worn off, taking with it the feelings of the need for caution.

They swirls are being mostly ignored at this point.

With the expectation of me, since I quit my job, everyone has gone back to their normal lives. There’s not much we can do at the moment anyways. Without further instruction from Minerva, we can do nothing but wait for Altaïr to get The Apple. And that’s going to be a while yet so even Ken’s gone back to devoting most his time to designing inventions for his job. Leaving me with nothing better to do but keep an eye on the swirls.

These past two weeks since Altaïr left—with the exception of the day we went to Monteriggioni—have been the most boring days since the whole debacle started. They’d almost made me wish I hadn’t gone and quit PetSmart. Though, with nothing to do, I’ve finally gotten around to applying to every College and University in the area.

Altaïr opening the door to my room, pulls me from my thoughts. Pushing my phone back under my pillow I turn towards him, holding a hand out. He takes it and climbs into the bed as I pull him towards me. Sprawling out on his back, I curl into his side.

“I missed you,” I tell him as I toss a leg over his. He hums in reply, arm moving under me to tug my closer to his side. Head now pillowed on his chest, I throw my arm over his chest, fisting the material just over his heart. “When do you leave again?”

“The sun is still out in Masyaf,” he answers, voice hoarse with what I assume is disuse. He’s spent most of these two weeks traveling. I highly doubt he had someone to talk to during his trip so a voice rough from disuse would be no surprise. “I am to spend the night and leave at first light.”

“Did you already go see The Master?”

“Yes.”

We lapse into silence then. A comfortable one that has me melting into his side and closing my eyes. The feeling of his heart beating under my hand soothes me in ways I never thought possible. Relaxes sore muscles and chases away tension I hadn’t realized I held. By the time he speaks again, I’m nothing but a pile of goo.

“Will you tell me what caused such a horrid bruise?”

“Only if your promise not to kill anyone,” I tell him, thoughts of keeping the truth from him long gone. No matter what trouble it may bring, I won’t lie to him. I don’t want to lie to him. Not when so much of our relationship is based on trust.

With there already being so much I  _can’t_ tell him, lying to him now would feel like the ultimate betrayal.

“I...I cannot promise you that,” he says, voice pained. Slowly his body begins to tense under me and I press a kiss to his cheek in the hopes to soothe him again. He melts back into the bed at the kiss, holding me tighter to him.  

“I know,” I soothe him as I lay my hand flat over his heart, savoring the feeling of it beating. “But I figure it wouldn’t hurt to try,” I tell him, falling silent until he gives me an expectant look. “Ken, Anissa, and I went to celebrate Halloween—a custom in our time where one gets dressed in costumes and gets drunk—and, well, I ran into unpleasant company. Long story short, we traded harsh words and then he hit me.”

“ _He?_ ”

“They can’t all be gentlemen,” I say, shrugging as best as I can given our positions. “But he got what was coming to him. Kenny broke his nose. You should have seen him—or maybe not cause you probably would have killed Ronnie if you had been there but anyways. Ken laid him out flat. Just  _‘pow’_ and the twat went down. It was amazing.”

“I am sure it was,” he says, voice rueful as he runs his fingers over the bruise again. Its four reddish-purple lines that can’t be explained away. To say they’re from anything other than a slap would be unbelievable. “Are you okay?”

“I…I’m fine. I was a little shaken up at the moment, sure, but I’m fine,” I tell him, choosing to offer up more than the typical ‘fine’ to ease him. “It was just a slap anyways. If he had punched me though, that would have been a different story.”

“Would I have been allowed to kill him then?”

“Probably.”

He huffs at the reply, obviously displeased that I’ve been hit regardless if it’d had been just a slap. The bruise is still there, spanning across my left cheek. I’ve been hurt and it doesn’t sit well with him but there’s really nothing we can do about it now. Not when Ken’s already broken Ronnie’s nose in retaliation.

“But enough about my misadventures,” I say, not so subtly changing the conversation. “I want to run something by you,” I tell him even though I’ve already set my mind on this. Asking his opinion is really just a pleasantry I’ve decided to extend to him. “I want to go to Jerusalem with you.”

“Why?”

“I need to talk to Malik,” I tell him, once again being honest with everything I can be. “I’ve gone to see him twice now but he was asleep the first time and left me with more questions than answers the second time. If I have any hope of convincing him that Minerva was messing with him in Solomon’s Temple, then I need to talk to him again.”

“Malik is in Jerusalem then?” he asks, hand still ghosting over the bruise on my cheek. Though it soon drops to curl around mine. “Why is he in Jerusalem?”

It’s a loaded question and once again I answer it honestly.

“I told you,” I say, words soft even as I wonder why he hasn’t made the connection already. Especially when we’ve discussed thing like this in front of him more than once before. “Remember? Malik becomes a Rafiq.”

“The Rafiq of Jerusalem,” he says, voice soft as well. The unasked question hangs in the air then, painted all over my face as I silently ask why he hadn’t figured all this out before. Other than Al Mualim’s pending betrayal, we’ve never actually tried to keep anything from him. “I guess I was just hoping it would not come true.”

_Ah, ignorance is bliss, after all._

 


	26. Ch 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It seems like just yesterday we set out on this trek. With nothing of interest or of note happening on our way here, the days had all blurred together. It just been six days of ridding until long after the sunset and then waking up at the crack of dawn and setting off again._
> 
> _Unwilling to stay in one spot too long, our camps had consisted of nothing more than packs acting as pillows and beds made of wool blankets. No fires or tents. We slept under the open sky and kept each other warm._

 

“You’re leaving.”

Ken’s voice sounds from behind me, soft as it bounces off the walls and back towards me. There’s no question in his voice, only a certainty so accusing, I fight to keep from curling in on myself as I sit on the attic floor. With my back to the door, I can’t see what face Ken makes as he watches me sort through all the travel gear spread around me.

“Yes,” I answer even though Ken’s words are not a question. They’re a statement of a fact I can’t deny. He hums at the reply, thoughtful as he finally steps out of the stairway. The sound of his footsteps is what lets me know he’s moving further into the room. I stop my sorting, pausing as I track his movements through his footsteps alone.

He comes to a stop behind me and I can feel his gaze on me. It falls over me and the gear around me before he suddenly turns away, footsteps once again filling the otherwise quiet room as he makes his way to one of the computers.

“You’re going to Jerusalem next, right?”

I can’t stop the smile that comes onto my lips at Ken question. It’s brought on by the show of trust he has in my decisions. By the fact that he won’t fight me on this because he understands that this is something that I need to do. It’s the quiet acceptance of someone who has more faith in me than even I do. 

“Yes,” I tell him again, the smile in my voice and, when I look up, I find a matching smile thrown my way. “We’re going after Talal.”

“He’s the slaver, right?” he asks even as he pulls up the small file we have on all of Altaïr’s targets. I don’t answer as I return to sorting through all the travel gear we have on hand. It’s not much but I figure if I can sort out everything thing that might be useful it’ll be more than enough.

“Don’t take a water bottle,” Ken says as he once again moves back to me. This time though he takes a seat on my right and sorts through the pile of things I’ve chosen to take with me. “You might get in trouble over it if the wrong person sees it. Ask Altaïr if he has an extra water skin for you.”

“What about Emergency water?” I ask, passing the white packets of emergency water over to him. Ken eyes them briefly before shaking his head and putting them aside. “Portable water filter?”

“Definitely take that,” he says, as he pulls the tan pack I’ve emptied for my trip open. As he sorts through the pile of take items, he places the ones he deems appropriate for the trip into the pack. “You might get sick without it. Also, don’t forget to take a few changes of clothes.”

“Already on it,” I tell him as I point to the smaller pack pushed off to the side. Since we’ll be traveling on horseback, carrying too much weight is not a real concern. Still, I makes sure to pack light and the smaller pack only has two changes of clothes and a few necessities.

We sort in silence after that. Only the occasional hum of approval or snort of disapproval at questionable items leave our lips as we fill the pack. It doesn’t take long for it to be full to the brim. Once it is though, Ken zips it close and we sit in silence for a bit.

There’s something he needs to say. I can see it in the tense set of his shoulders and the frown on his lips. So I say nothing as I sit there, waiting for him to put together the words he’s struggling to find. Though once he finally finds them, they take me aback.

“You should take a gun,” he finally says after a bit. I can’t stop myself from snapping my head in his direction at the words. Now that is something I seriously hadn’t expected him to say.

“Where would I get a gun?”

“From your dad’s gun safe,” he says, the _‘duh’_ going unsaid. I just look at him like he’s lost his mind. A raised eyebrow is his response as he nods at the pack in front of us. Right, seeing as I’m going on a trip to Templar infested Jerusalem, I really have no reason to talk. “I’m not telling you to take a rifle. Just a handgun in case things go south.”

“Nope,” I tell him. Refusing to listen to his ridiculous idea, I stand and brush the dust from sitting on the attic floor off my legs and bum. He scrambles up after me, long legs momentarily getting tangled under him before he straightens and latches on to arm my arm to keep me from leaving.

“Listen to me Jen,” he says, surprisingly calm. Once again the voice of reason, he holds me in place as he says, “You do realize that you’ll be traveling with a Highly Wanted Assassin on his trip to kill someone, right?”

“Yes?”

“And you do remember how hard it was for you to travel from city to city when you played the game, right?” he asks, blue eyes locked onto mine as he tries to pour logic into my brain. “You remember how you had to run straight through the cities without stopping because the guards wouldn’t stop chasing you, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then please tell me why you think you’ll be able to survive all that without some way to protect yourself?”

I can’t and he knows it. Still, he does nothing more than nod when he sees I’ve gotten the point. He doesn’t rub it in my face or call me dumb or taunt me. He just nods his head and, with a reassuring squeeze to my arm, lets me go.

“I’ll go get the gun,” he says, leaving the room before I can gather my wits and find another reason to argue against him. I watch him go, unwilling to call him back as I realize he’s made a very valid point.

_How am I going to survive?_

With the video game guards chasing after us for even the slightest provocation, how will I make it out of this without becoming a burden to Altaïr?

What if I slow us down?

What if my inexperience gets us caught.

The worry lays heavy on my shoulders as I gather up the packs and place them next to the swirl. It circles my mind, tormenting me until Ken walks back into the attic with my dad’s silver Colt. He brings the gun in its holster, strapped in and as safe as it can ever be. Yet it still looks dangerous.

Deadly.

And I can feel the worry building as he nears me.

What if I hurt someone?

What if I shoot the wrong person?

_What if I shoot myself!?_

“I can’t,” I tell Ken, a desperate tone to my voice that I know he catches when he pauses in his steps. He hangs back, weary of the panicked look on my face and the desperation in my voice. “I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“What if something goes wrong?” I ask, beginning to pace the room as the frustration and desperation builds. “What if I do something wrong? What if I mess up and get us caught?”

“Something always goes wrong,” he says in a horrible attempt of reassuring me. “If you really haven’t realized yet that anything that can go wrong _will_ go wrong than you haven’t been paying enough attention.”

“Not helping,” I choke out as I continue to pace. Ken just gives a bemused laugh as he starts to make his way towards me again, gun and holster still in his hands. The holster is black and small. It takes me a moment to realize it a thigh holster. Though, once I do, the black belt in is other hand suddenly makes sense. 

“You know, it’s funny,” he says, a smile on his lips as he stops me in my pacing with a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You get all cocky and stubborn when someone tells you not to do something. You take everything as a challenge and dare people to tell you, you can’t possibly do something, but the second no one fights you, you suddenly can’t do something?”

I can’t say anything to that. I can’t even fight him on it because I know there’s more truth to those words than I’m happy admitting to.

“If anyone can, you can,” he says, words a whisper as he hands me the belt. I take it with slightly trembling hands but push forward to lift the edges of my tunic and wrap the belt around my waist under it. “So get out there and kick butt and quit worrying.”

“I haven’t told the others yet,” I tell him as he kneels to help wrap the holster around my thigh. It sits over my leggings, tight enough not to move around yet lose enough to be comfortable. It stays up with the help of a strap that wraps around the belt now wrapped around my waist.

“They know,” he says as he stands back up and smiles at the shocked look on my face. “We always knew you would leave eventually,” he explains as he pulls the pack onto his shoulders and hands me the smaller one. “We just weren’t sure when.”

“No one’s mad?”

“Nope,” he says as he ushers me towards the swirl. He’s eager to get me going before another round of self-doubt hits. “They all said to wish you luck. Though Ezio would like to deliver his message personally if you don’t mind.”

“Ezio wants to tell me something?” I ask, almost in a daze as I hug the pack of clothes close to my chest. This. This is not going the way I planned.

Not at all.

I had planned to sneak away. To leave before anyone had a chance to stop me with only a note left behind to explain my absence. But, once again, nothing goes according to plan and everyone knows I’m leaving before I can make my escape.

“Not you, little one,” the man in question says as he appears on top of the attic stairs. He’s dressed in a white tunic, a plain leather belt wrapped around his waist, sword dangling from it, and his leather vambraces in place. It’s only then that I realize that Kenny’s dressed in much the same manner. “But for our future Grand Master.”

I’d been too preoccupied before to notice but now that I do I give Kenny a questioning look.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Kenny says, softly as he sees the hopeful look on my face. “As much as we loved to join you on your suicidal adventure, someone has to stay behind to keep an eye on things. I don’t even want to imagine what might happen if we’re weren’t here and another Assassin popped up.”

“I understand,” I tell him because I do. Ken has work and Ezio has Brotherhood duties to attend to. I really can’t just expect them to drop everything and come with me but it doesn’t stop me from wishing they would. “So you’re walking me to the gates then?”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t get into any trouble before you even set foot outside of Masyaf,” Kenny says, dodging the punch I sent his way with a laugh. He dives into the swirl without another word.

I follow after him, planning my revenge as I get sucked up by the swirl and spit out midair.

I’ll never get used to the feeling of plummeting three stories. Or of the split-second of weightlessness before gravity suddenly kicks back in and yanks you down so fast, you’re so sure you’re going to die. But I don’t die.

My fall gets stop by a cart full of hay only seconds after I’ve been spit out by the swirl. It envelopes me, swallowing me up and keeping me safe until Ken reaches into the cart and pulls me out.

“Where are you meeting up with Altaïr?” he asks as we brush the hay off of ourselves. A soft _‘thump’_ lets me know Ezio's joined us second before his head pops up beneath from the hay.

“By the gates,” I tell him, smiling at the fond look Ken gives Ezio. Ken doesn’t see it. He’s too busy dusting the hay off Ezio’s head to see it. With a shake of my head, I head off. I make my way down the path as Ezio jumps out of the cart and Ken dusts him off.

It doesn’t take them long to catch up with me. Their long legs carry them faster than me. So in no time their walking behind me, shoulder to shoulder as they go on and on about something I can’t make out. Not that I'm really trying to. My mind is too busy thinking on what may come and all that I need to do to make sure nothing goes wrong.

I’m trying to figure out what I need to say to Malik while at the same time wondering if maybe I’m not going about things the wrong way. Malik will eventually come around on his own. With or without my interference so is there really any need for this?

Do I really have any reason to go?

Other than to sate my constant need for adventure, that is?

_No._

There isn’t but when I catch sight of Altaïr, inspecting the saddle of a familiar black horse, I know I can’t back out. Not when he straightens, having caught sight of our approach, and the corner of his lips curl up into a barely there smile.

Coming from Altaïr it might as well be a full-blown smile.

“Are you ready?” Altaïr asks as we approach. He holds his hand out for my pack and I hand it to him with a smile of my own because the barley there smile eases a knot in my stomach I hadn’t realize was there. It chases the worries away and replaces it with giddiness as he straps the pack to the saddle. “I figured you would want to take Hafiz.”

“You were correct,” I tell him as I move to pet Epona’s snout. The horse allows the petting easily, only huffing and puffing when the larger and heavier pack is strapped in behind the saddle. “How’s my big boy been?”

“When can we expect you back?” Ezio asks once the pack is secured, absentmindedly patting Epona’s back. The horse swivels an ear in his direction, but has no other reaction to Ezio. He seems to take the petting begrudgingly, hoofed feet pawing at the dirt.

“We should be back in ten days. Twelve at the most,” Altaïr replies, eyeing the pawing hoof but not moving to reprimand the horse. Not that I know if that’s an action worth reprimanding, of course, but the way Altaïr’s lips pull down the slightest bit tell me it might. 

“Keep an eye on her until then,” Ezio says, his sudden words pulling my attention just as he holds his arm out for Altaïr to take. The clasp forearms, eyes locked as Altaïr nods. I watch the exchange happening before me even as I continue to pet Epona. “Safety and peace, brother.”

“Upon you as well, brother,” Altaïr says without missing a beat. They clasp forearms for a bit longer, gazes holding as the share an unvoiced conversation. Whatever has gone on between them seems to have pleased Ezio as he pulls back with a huge grin on his face.

“Good, now then. Come here, Jen,” Ezio says arms going wide and I step into them with a laugh. “Stay safe, don’t taunt anyone, and for the love of God stay out of trouble.”

“No promises,” I whisper against his chest, laughing harder when Ken grumbles at the words.

“Jen,” Ken growls though there’s no real heat behind his words. I pull him into a hug then. “I’ll see you in a few days, okay?”

 “Okay.”

They watch us leave. Staying at the stables long after we disappear in the distance and I watch them shrink the entire time. I don’t take my eyes off them, not until I can no longer make them out. By then my neck is sore and achy but I don’t regret it.

“You’ll see them again,” Altaïr promises, words low, from atop of his white horse. I shoot him a smile as I goad Epona on, breaking out into a full gallop I laugh as the wind whips my hair around me.

“I know.”

~oOo~

Birds sing overhead. Twittering from their perch in between the tree's leaves. I watch them, catching nothing more than glimpses of feathers as they hop from branch to branch.

A soft breeze rustles them, makes the branches sway and creak. That same breeze bites at my cheeks and the tip of my nose. It’s cold enough to turn them red and I suppress a shiver as it worms it’s way under the thick, wool blanket wrapped around me.

The air is cool, fresh. It’s not cold enough to be considered freezing but I still shiver as I wait for the sun to rise. Sunrise is not too far off. The world is bathed in the blue of the predawn, signaling that the sun will peek over the horizon within the hour. The grayish blue surrounds us as I try to savor the cool breeze because I’ll be wishing for it once the day warms up.

I’ve come to find just how hot the days can get here.

Besides me, Epona knickers, head bobbing in agitation.

“Sorry, sorry,” I coo, returning my attention back to him. Running my hand through his mane, I brush out the knots. The long black hairs wrap around my fingers as I slowly work out any knots I come across.

For the most part his mane is knot less, but, with nothing better to do, I turn my attention to grooming him. He enjoys the attention. Even demands it with impatient noises when my mind wanders and my fingers still.

“You are spoiling him.”

“He deserves to be spoiled,” I answer back instantly even though the sound of his voice, shattering the relative quietness of the dawn, has startled me enough to jump. “All animals do, Altaïr.”

He lies on a bed made of nothing but dirt and a thin wool blanket with his pack acting as a rather hard pillow. Yet he looks comfortable as he lays there. I don’t have the faintest idea how. My own back throbs, sore from the nights spent sleeping on the ground so I toss away the idea of curling up next to.

I can’t say it doesn’t look tempting though. It really does and it only another impatient whiny from Epona that keeps me from joining him. We'll be on our way out soon anyways, now that Altaïr is awake, so there really is no point in joining him.

Mind made, I turn my attention to Epona just as he huffs and walks away. Fed up with my waning attention he instead joins Hamza, Altaïr’s white steed, in a small patch of grass only a few feet from where we’ve made camp. I watch him go with a bemused smile on my lips.

_Someone is a little needy._

Hamza doesn’t raise his head from where he grazes. His whole attention is on the grass in front of him, so he doesn’t even twitch an ear in Epona’s direction as the black horse stops to graze next to him. They eat there graze peacefully, munching away at it. Confident that they’re safe, they enjoy their morning meal.

Arms encircle me as I watch them graze.

They wrap around my waist and pull me flush to Altaïr chest. With a pleased hum I tip my head up and tilt my head up. The kiss that pressed to my forehead is soft, tender, and the caring action has me slipping my eyes shut as I all but melt against him. He chuckles at my reaction, arms wrapping tighter around me.

“We need to leave soon,” he whispers against my hair, soft breath rustling the strands. I hum out my acknowledgment but I don’t make to move out of his arms. He doesn’t let me go either. Instead, we stand there, my back against his chest, his arms around my waist, lips pressed against my hair as we watch the horses munch away.

“How much longer to Jerusalem?” I finally ask as I step out of his arms. He lets me go reluctantly, hands grazing against my body until I’m too far away to maintain contact. I miss his arms almost instantly but keep myself from diving back in them as I catch sight of the sun finally peeking over the horizon.

“We should make it there before the evening,” he answers and I marvel at how fast the days have gone.

It seems like just yesterday we set out on this trek. With nothing of interest or of note happening on our way here, the days had all blurred together. It just been six days of ridding until long after the sunset and then waking up at the crack of dawn and setting off again.

Unwilling to stay in one spot too long, our camps had consisted of nothing more than packs acting as pillows and beds made of wool blankets. No fires or tents. We slept under the open sky and kept each other warm.

Even unsaddling the horses had been a no go. In case the need for a speedy getaway had arisen, Altaïr had not wanted to risk being caught unprepared. The most to come off the horses had been the packs and the bits so at least the horses could comfortably graze.

Still, a speedy getaway hasn’t been needed.    

It’s almost hard to believe how _boring_ this trip has been.

The guards hadn’t even turned our way.

_‘They're ignoring us for the favor of looking for lone travelers,’_ Altaïr had said when I asked why we weren’t being more closely watched. Even with Altaïr decked out in full assassin gear we haven’t gotten more than a courteous glance. _‘An Assassin is far more likely to travel alone, after all. Besides, you are a woman. They do not regard you as dangerous, let alone capable of being an Assassin.’_

This wasn’t news to me, to be completely honest. I knew where women stood in this era, just as almost everyone with an education does but I’ve never been treated like that. I’d never been treat as a second class citizen before and having Altaïr inform me of my new social standing was actually incredibly shocking at the time. Still, I would have been more offended if it didn’t accidentally bring with it a small level of protection. Figuring that trading a bit of my pride for protection was well worth the trade off, I had accepted it without a fuss.  

“Let us get going,” Altaïr says pulling me from my thoughts. I agree and start pulling the blanket from my shoulder to roll it up just as he lets out a low whistle. It’s soft, almost inaudible but it’s enough as the breeze carries it to the horses.

Hamza’s head perks up instantly, big head and ears swiveling towards us as he waits for Altaïr's next command. Besides him Epona continues to graze, though his ears swivel towards us too. All it takes is two equally quite clicks and Hamza starts towards us.

He lopes forwards slowly. Altaïr’s command isn’t one of distress, so he makes his way to us at a normal pace. Which, when it comes to horses, means that it’s slow and steady. Epona grazes for a bit longer before finally following after Hamza. Though he goes just as slowly.

By the time both horses reach us, our blankets are rolled up and ready to be hitched to the saddle. It honestly doesn’t take that long to get going though. It only takes us a couple of minutes to tie the blankets and packs and then we’re on the road again.  

There’s no such thing as baths or showers on the road. It's something I realized might have been a very big possibility, so I settle for wiping away the worst of the grime and dirt with a wet cloth as we ride along. I also thank whatever higher power is looking down on me for remembering to bring dry shampoo along.

“You can bath once we reach Jerusalem,” Altaïr says, an amused smile on his lips as he watches me fuss with my hair. Getting the shampoo into my hair without dropping it is tricky business when you're ridding a horse.

“I know,” I tell him, admitting defeat as I pull my wild and seriously unwashed hair into a truly messy ponytail. I feel like it’s going to take more than one bath to get clean. “I just hope there’s going to be enough water to wash all this grim off.”

“There will be,” he says, ushering Hamza forward at the words. “The sooner we get there, the sooner you can bathe.”  

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

We break the horses out into a run then, keeping the fast pace only for a few miles. While we both just want to reach Jerusalem already we know better than to push them longer than that. Unwilling to wear down the horses just to make great time, we allow them to drop down into a steady but fast pace.

Still, it doesn’t take long for us to reach Jerusalem. Or maybe it does, but I’m so eager to get there that the time seems to fly by. Pretty soon we reach the top of the hill overlooking Jerusalem and even from where we stand the huge, towering gates loom in the distance.

Getting through them is going to be a mission all on its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, hi, there...so, um, it's been a while...you're hair looks nice like that...There's an updated...I'm so sorry! (Hides behind Altaïr)


	27. Ch 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world’s tilting on a funny axis. Shifting in a way he can’t quite perceive as he does nothing more than sits there. There’s a cold, metal object spread on the desk in front of him, all but forgotten as he stares blindly ahead. He stares past the blueprints projected on the wall and out the window next to them, watching cars speed past.
> 
> The day is dewy, gray, and wet. A perfect day to spend in doors and tinker to the sound of raindrops falling. But he can’t invent, not now. Not when he finally realizes something is wrong.
> 
> No, not wrong, just off.

The world’s tilting on a funny axis. Shifting in a way he can’t quite perceive as he does nothing more than sits there. There’s a cold, metal object spread on the desk in front of him, all but forgotten as he stares blindly ahead. He stares past the blueprints projected on the wall and out the window next to them, watching cars speed past.

The day is dewy, gray, and wet. A perfect day to spend in doors and tinker to the sound of raindrops falling onto wet pavement. But he can’t tinker, not now. Not when he finally realizes something is wrong.

_No, not wrong, just off._

There’s something that seriously doesn’t add up with all _this_.

Not when the weather is perfect and he’s got his latest project laid out in front of him and, yet, he can’t bring himself it pick up his tools and work. He can’t focus. His eyes keep shifting. They keep going to look out the window despite the fact that he has things he needs to do.

It would be less worrying if he hadn’t been like this all week. If he hadn’t already spent days sluggishly working. The last day he’d been able to work had been when—

“She will be fine,” Ezio says, voice washing over him as the other man appears at his side. He almost jumps in surprise and probably would have if he didn’t feel quite so off. “Jen will be home soon, Ken.”

“Huh?” he hums, turning to look at Ezio just as the other man, takes a seat next to him. He perches on a stool dragged up from somewhere. There’s so many desks and stools and chairs littered around his garage that he’s lost count of just how many he truly owns.

“Jen will be back soon, Ken,” Ezio says, the fond smile on his face noticeable to him. Not that Ken points it out. He ignores it.

He always does.

Jen thinks he doesn’t realize all the fond looks and smiles Ezio tends to throw his way, but he does. He just doesn’t know _what_ to do about them, so he brushes them off quickly and efficiently. It wouldn’t do to let things like that go to his head after all.

Ezio’s just a nice guy.

_A very nice guy._

A guy who holds his heart on his sleeves and has a lot of love to give.

So Ken doesn’t let the looks and the smiles go to his head, though he can’t deny that he soaks up the attention and affection like a sponge. It’s a knee jerk reaction, after all. Having grown up with parents like his, love and affection weren’t exactly a common occurrence in his childhood home.

So he swallows up every affectionate glance and touch like he would if it had come from any of the Hernandez's and ignores the way his heart tightens ever so slightly. He ignores the smile on Jen’s face every time she catches sight of the looks too and the way Mrs. Hernandez’s too knowing eyes, follows after him worriedly every time she sees Ezio hover around him.

There’s nothing to be worried about, after all.

He knows better to get involved. Unlike Jen, he knows well enough that any relationship formed with any one from their world can only end in heartache and tears. So he keeps his head on right and, while he soaks up the affection, he makes sure to quickly and efficiently crush any budding emotions.

_They can only lead to trouble, after all._

“She’ll be fine,” Ezio says again fond look turning slightly concerned when all Ken has done is stare at him. With a sigh, Ken nods. Turning back to his project he picks up a smolder and gets back to work despite the fact that his eyes long to go back to staring out into the dewy day.

“I know,” he says, absentmindedly poking at the metal. “But…”

_Something’s off._

“You worry,” Ezio says, concern look melting away as he sinks into his seat. “We all do.”

_Oh, yeah...I’m worried alright._

~oOo~

“How are we getting in?”

It’s now that the nervousness truly hits. As I look up at the gates that tower over us, the first strings of unease finally begin to crawl through my veins. The guards watch us, a suspicious glint in their eyes as we stop the horses a few feet from the gate.

Besides me Altaïr doesn’t answer my question. Instead he veers the horse off the dirt path. He keeps the pace calm though. He goes slow enough not to draw unwanted attention as he heads to a little stable off to the side of the gate entrance.

It’s a little thing. Small but obviously well-built and cared for despite that it’s meant to hold no more than a handful of horses at a time. The wooden walls stand proud and strong, with shiny water troughs, and sparkly clean water.

_The whole thing just screams “High End”._

Once again Altaïr keeps quiet as he dismounts. Though, he hands me Hamza’s reins as I pull up next to them. Unsure of where this might be going, I simply grab the reins and wait till I’m told what to do. This is his forte after all. He does this often enough so I trust he knows what he’s doing as he knocks on the stable doors.

It doesn’t take long for a little, old man to emerge from the stable. He’s completely different from what one would expect of such a high end stable. Clad in a simple tunic and well-worn trouser, the old man looks like, well, a peasant. Not the rich merchant one would expect. 

Once he spots us, he heads towards us immediately, his gate more of a hobble than and actual walk but there’s a cheerful smile on his face despite the obvious struggle it takes for him to reach us.

“Are you in need of assistance?” The old man asks, breath slightly labored despite the short distance.

“We require shelter for our horses for a few days,” Altaïr says, voice low as he pulls a pouch from his belt. He drops the whole thing, pouch and all, in the old man’s hands without waiting for a price.

“Of course, of course,” the old man says, cheerfulness increased by the pouch in his hands as he hobbles towards the horses and me. I hand him the reins to Hamza when he reaches me.

Reluctant to part with Epona just yet, I wait until he leads Hamza into the stables before I begin to dismount. Altaïr's at my side once I do. With a firm grip on my waist, he helps me down from the horse and back onto my feet.

“We will not be able to bring all of your belongings with us,” he says, hands still on my waist. His grip helps ground me. It eases my nerves and calms my racing heart so I don’t move out of his grip.

“I figured,” I tell him as I throw my arms around his neck and snuggle into his chest. “Most of it is just in case I get lost on the road.”

“I would never let that happen,” he promises, arms going to wrap around my waist as he pulls me tighter against him.

“I know,” I tell him, huge smile on my lips as I lean up. Standing on the tips of my toes I press my lips to his cheek before slipping out of his arms. “But anything could happen.”

He let’s me go reluctantly, hand going to grab mine and only letting go at the last second. I send him another smile before turning my attention to Epona.

“You be good, okay,” I tell him as I rub his snout. He shorts, head bobbing and hoof pawing at the ground. I take that as an agreement as I move to unhitch my smaller pack from him. it holds a change of clothes and toiletries. Only the necessities really. 

“Worry not, young lady, he is in good hands,” the old man says, startling me as he suddenly appears at my side. “My family has cared for horses for many generations.”

“I’m more worried about his behavior than your care,” I tell the old man, a nervous smile on my face as I hand him the reins. “He can be a bit needy.”

“Any horse is needy,” the old man says, smile still on his lips as he carefully places his hand on Epona’s snout. “They require constant care and attention to thrive. A healthy horse is a loved horse.”

“And he is loved,” Altaïr says, a strange look on his face. Half hidden under his hood, I can’t make out what it means but choose to ignore it as I agree with his words. “Come now, it’s getting late.”

It’s all the warning I get as Altaïr takes my hand in his and begins to lead me away. He goes slow, pace calm, as he obviously senses the nerves pouring off me in waves.

“I’ll take good care of your Epona,” the old man calls after us when I can’t help but throw a desperate look back.

Epona whinnies after us, head bobbing. For a few seconds I think he’ll take off after us but a small tug to his reins and a few whisper words are all it takes for him to follow the old man into the stable.

“He'll be fine,” Altaïr says, drawing my attention back to him. Tearing my gaze away from Epona, I look forward to see us approaching the gates.

“I know,” I tell him, the nerves increasing again as we near the gates. Not that we were far from them to begin with. “It's us I'm more worried about.”

“Now that is a more legitimate concern,” Altaïr says, a small smile tugging at his lips just as cries reach out ears. We stop the moment we hear it. Altaïr drops the smile instantly. Face hardening, he spares me a concern look.

“Go on then,” I tell him, pulling my hand from his with a small smile of my own. “Go save the scholar so we can get inside and have Malik yell at us.”

“Yell at me, you mean,” he says, small smile pulling at the corner of his lips again. Ducking he presses a quick kiss on my forehead, lingering just long enough to whisper, “I will be right back.”

“Be careful,” I call after him as he races off. Uncaring of attracting the guards suspicion, he hurries into the fenced off graveyard, where the distressed cries for help come from.

I walk after him slowly. Not exactly eager to see the bloodshed, I opt to lean against the stone wall of the graveyard instead. Not that I don’t end up hearing the fight happening on the other side.

The shouts and clashing of metal on metal are loud. Loud enough, even, to draw the attention of the gate guards. Panic fills me then but, unable to do anything, I just watch helplessly as the guards perk up, gazes on the graveyard.

All it takes is one extremely loud cry from a wounded guard to draw their suspicion. Curious of what’s going on, one leaves his post, signaling the others to hang back as he investigates the cry.

He enters the graveyard cautiously, one hand on the hilt of his sword, and whatever he sees there is enough to have him stumbling back out. Clearly afraid, he yells at the others to join him, sword already drawn, he heads back inside the graveyard once the others follow after him.

And I stand there, lost for any way to help, until I suddenly remember the knife on my belt and the gun on my thigh. Hands falling to the gun, I take a step forward as I fumble with the latches keeping it secure in its holster.

“Quickly now,” Altaïr says, jumping down from the graveyard wall, he appears at my side just as I unlatch it. “They will not be distracted for long. If we mean to enter Jerusalem, now is our chance.”

With those word, he grabs my hand and drags me towards the gates. I blame the panic for the fact that he has to haul me into Jerusalem. It isn’t until we’ve taken the first step through the gates that the panic ebbs enough for me to catch up to his pace.

“Sorry,” I choke out then, embarrassment coloring my cheeks. I keep my gaze low even though I want nothing more than to look around and take it all in.

I’m in Jerusalem, after all.

_The holy land._

“You fared a lot better then I expected,” Altaïr says, instantly picking up on what I’m apologizing about.

“How?” I ask, the doubt clear in my voice as I look up at him. His eyes are on me, gaze concerned even though a small smile pulls on his lips.

“You were going to assist me,” he says, something like pride in his voice as he pulls me into his side and wraps an arm around me. “Its one thing to be too afraid to move, it is another thing completely to be afraid but still join the fight.”

“I didn’t join in.”

“But you were going to and that is all that matters,” he says, the tone in his voice so final that I don’t argue against it.

Instead I finally take in the city, eyes running over the bustling merchant stalls, beautiful, stone buildings, and smartly dressed people. They’re all covered in all manners of fine clothes and jewels and walk with an air of superiority that would chaff if I had actually cared. 

_It’s the rich district._

Right, I’d forgotten that. At least until an unpleasant smell reaches my nose as a woman races up to us. She stands out. Completely different from her rich counterparts and dressed in rags, the others give her a wide berth as she races up to us. Hands clasped pleadingly in front of her, she blocks our way, forcing us to come to a complete stop.

“Please, can you spare few coins?” she asks and I groan.

She just had to be real too, didn’t she?

Quirking a brow at my groan, Altaïr doesn't acknowledged her as he leads me around the persistent woman. She follows after is, babbling on about needing money. Of course, beggars would come to the rich district. They have a better chance of scoring a few coins here than any other district.

“Please tell me Malik isn’t too far away,” I beg as I realize she probably won’t be the only beggar we'll run into.

“He is not,” he says, humor in his voice as we make our way deeper into the Rich district of Jerusalem.

Our walk to the bureau seems to take forever. More then once we get pestered by beggars but it’s only the current one that makes us pause on our way.

She’s a tiny little thing. Probably no more than five years old and dressed in rags. Her hair is a matted mess, hiding it’s true length in its tangles. What she looks like, I’m not sure as she hasn’t looked up at us once.

Instead she stands before us, barefoot and head bent with her cupped hands stretched out in front of her. Her matted hair blocks her face from view and everything in me screams to scope the little girl up and take her away from this horrible place.

“What’s your name?” I ask her, crouching down to try to get a look at her face. She doesn’t answer. Instead she shrugs, looking defeated as she lowers her hands. “You don’t have a name?”

She nods her head, finally glancing up so that I can catch of glimpse of wide, hazel eyes and a button nose. She’s adorable and I want nothing more than to take her home.

Except she isn’t a puppy. I can’t just take her home and make her my own. She’s someone's child, a neglected one but someone’s child nonetheless. And I can’t just take her with me and away from her family. My own mother would kill me.

So instead of scoping her up like I want to, I turn my puppy eyes to Altaïr, pleading with him as I nod to the poor little girl. He sighs, but reaches into a pouch connected to his belt anyways. Pulling a few coins from it he hands it to the little girl.

She beams at us then. She gives us a smile full of missing teeth but no less cute. Clutching the coins to her chest, she races off with a wave.

I watch her go. Scared that someone might take the money from her, I keep my eyes on her until she disappears around a corner. Even then I keep watch, genuinely concerned for her safety, even though I have no hope of seeing her again.

It’s Altaïr gentle grip on my elbow that pulls me away then. Coaxing me forward without a word we continue on our way, the little girl gone from our lives as quickly as she’d entered it.

I don’t ask if she’ll be safe. I don’t ask if she’ll make it into adulthood and grow up to be a beautiful young lady. I don’t wonder if I’ll even bump into her again and see her alive because I know what the answer to that is. In this time, where so many children _didn’t_ survive into adulthood, I know where her fate might lie.

_In death like so many others._

Lost in my thoughts, I lose track of time. Clinging to Altaïr's arm, I let him lead me while I lose myself in my mind. It isn’t until we reach a ladder that I resurface from my thoughts.

With a gentle nudge, Altaïr herds me towards the ladder. He keeps his hands on my hips the whole way there. His concern is adorable and I give him a quick smile before climbing the ladder.

As I wait for him to reach me, I take in the city. Gazing around me as I make my way to the entrance to the bureau. Though once I do, I suddenly realize yet another thing I had not thought of.

“We have a problem,” I tell Altaïr as he appears over the edge. Peering down the open gate and into the stone floor below, I begin to wonder what other hurdles I might have forgotten to think of. Because I must have forgotten more if I hadn’t remembered that the entrance to the Assassin Bureau was a fifteen foot drop, at least.

“Do not worry,” Altaïr says, smugness in his voice and posture as he all but saunters up to the gate opening. With a wink, he jumps in, rolling as he hits the ground. Standing up, he pushes his hood back, letting it pool around his neck as he opens his arms. There’s a full blown smirk on his lips as he looks up and says, “I’ll catch you.”

“Oh no, no, no, no, nope, no, not happening, uh-uh,” I yelp, scrambling back from the entrance. If Altaïr finds the situation funny, he doesn’t laugh as he scales up the wall and pops his head over the edge.

“I will not drop you,” he promises, smirk still on his lips as he crosses his arms over the edge. How he’s holding himself in such a position, clinging to the wall with such ease, I don’t know but I entertain the thought of pushing him off.

“Nope,” I tell him as I plop down—rather immaturely, I’ll admit—on the roof. Arms crossed I look away from him even though there’s only about two feet of distance in between us. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“And how will you talk to Malik from here,” he asks, smirk still in place as he rests his chin on his crossed arms. “Or bathe for that matter.”

“Are you saying I stink?” I gasp out, head snapping to glare at him as he wrinkles his nose and nods.

“A little bit,” he admits.

“Well, you don’t exactly smell great either,” I grumble out, suddenly self-conscious of the sweat I can feel cooling on my back and the grease in my hair. I refrain from running my hand through it for fear that I might never be able to pull it back out.

“Of course I do not,” Altaïr says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We have been on the road for the better part of a week,” he says, reaching a hand out for me. “So come, let’s bathe.”

“Together?” I squeak out, cheeks coloring and his smirk grows at the sight of it.

“If you want,” he says, hand still reaching for me.

“Stop playing,” I grumble as I take it, even though there’s really no need to. In the positions that we’re in, it’s not like he can help me stand. So, after giving his hand a tight squeeze, I let it go. “How do I do this?” I ask as Altaïr gets down from the wall.

“Come this way, onto the gate” he instructs from inside the bureau as he points towards where he wants me to stand. Cautiously, I clamber onto the gate, making sure each foot is secure before lifting the other. “It will not break.”

“Shush,” I hiss back as I catch the mocking tone in his voice. It takes longer than it probably should for me to reach the opposite end of the opening but once I do, I huff out an impatient, “Now what?”

“Now turn around, he says, twirling his finger and waiting for me to do as he says before he tells me what to do next. “Now step on to the edge, but not too far,” he corrects just as I realizes that my next step back would have missed the gate completely. “There you go,” he says and I really wish I could see him to make sure he’s not up to anything funny. Not that he’ll let me get hurt, of course. “Now let yourself fall.”

I don’t think. I don’t _let_ myself think about it. I focus on his words and fall back on his command. Not letting myself think of anything else, I almost miss the sensation of falling. It’s such a short drop compared to the drops I’ve been taking through the swirl that I almost don’t realize that I’m falling.

At least not until my stomach tingles but it’s only seconds later that Altaïr catches me. Arms wrapped around my shoulders and under my knees, he holds me close, cradling me in his arms. And, when I open my eyes, I find a proud, barley there smile of his on his lips.

“Happy,” I squeak out, slightly breathless despite the fact that the ordeal is already over with.

“Very.”

“Good,” I mumble, making no move to get out of his arms despite the fact that I have no reason to be in them again. “But don’t ever expect me to do that again. I’m using the front door from now on.”

“Of course,” he agrees, finally moving to place my feet on the floor. Steadying me on my slightly weak knees, he keeps his hands on my hips until we’re both sure I can stand on my own. “Now, come. It is time to face Malik.”

As we walk deeper into the Bureau and Malik’s office, I take a look around the room we’re currently in. It resembles a patio, an enclosed one, but a patio nonetheless. With palm trees, a fountain, and a pile of truly comfortable looking pillows.

I have a mind to leave him to face his fate with Malik and instead curl up on the pillows and take a nap. And I really would have if it wasn’t because this Altaïr, _my Altaïr_ , doesn’t deserve it. He’s done nothing to deserve Malik’s screaming. So, with one last longing look towards the pillows, I head into Malik’s office with Altaïr.

It doesn’t take long for Malik to notice us. Slightly bent over the counter and scribbling on some parchment, he looks up the second we enter. It’s like a door slamming shut on his emotions the second he catches sight of Altaïr. Every ounce of friendliness drains from his face as he straightens up. Instead it’s replaced by unhidden anger as he waits for us to speak.

Surprisingly, the following conversation turns out to be just as civil as in the game.

“Safety and peace, Malik.”

“Your presence here deprives me of both. What do you want?”

_Which wasn’t all that civil to begin with, if we’re being honest._

“Al Mualim has asked—” Altaïr begins, a slightly subdued tone to his voice. Malik’s harsh words have already caused him to hunch in on himself the tiniest bit. With such coldness radiating from Malik, I’m sure he regrets having pulled off his hood now.

“Asked that you perform some menial task in a effort to redeem yourself?” Malik cuts him off, the bitterness in his words so strong that Altaïr flinches. Not that Malik sees it, no he’s too busy scribbling on his parchment. Albeit a lot more angrily than when we first arrived. “So be out with it.”

“Tell me what you can about the one they call Talal,” Altaïr says, voice surprisingly still civil, despite the fact that Malik is being anything but.

“It is your duty to locate and assassinate the man, Altaïr. Not mine,” Malik snaps pushing away from the counter to rummage through the bookshelf behind him. Pulling a thick, heavy book from it, he slams it onto the counter with more force than seems necessary.

“You would do well to assist me,” Altaïr finally snaps. No doubt thoroughly fed up with Malik’s attitude, his voice takes on an angered tone. “His death benefits the entire land.”

“Do you deny his death benefits you as well?” Malik asks, never once moving to open the book as he glares at us.

“Such things do not concern me,” Altaïr grounds, anger building as Mail continues to lash out.

“Your actions very much concern me!”

“Then do not help me. I  will find him myself!”

“Boys!” I finally yell, despite the fact that I know that their argument will wind down now all on its own. They both turn to me instantly, varying amounts of surprise on their faces as I push forward towards the counter “As much as I would like to stand here all day, listening to you to fight, I’d really rather spend this time bathing. Malik?”

“Yes?” he answers, hesitating to say anymore.

“Where’s the closest bathing room, pool, or fountain?” I ask, as I unshoulder my pack and place it on the counter. “Hell, I’ll even take a bucket of water at this point. I just need to get clean.”

“There is…most of the Assassin’s use the fountain outside for a brisk wash,” Malik says, watching me with a look that says he thinks I’m missing quite a few screw. “But if you would prefer a thorough bath, you are more than welcome to use the facilities.”

“Thorough bath please,” I chirp as I begin to unbuckle my knife belt. “For both of us.”

“Are you saying I stink?” Altaïr asks and I don’t have to turn to know that the barely there smile is back in place.

“A little bit,” I tell him, shooting him a smile before I turn back to Malik with an expectant look.

“Will you two be bathing together, because the tub is only big enough for one?” Malik deadpans, face so serious, I can’t help but laugh.

~oOo~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This it, you guys! 
> 
> It's year three!!!
> 
> Three years, twenty seven chapters, and approximately 120,000 words later and here we are. 
> 
> Wow, I only just realized I've only posted 7 chapters this year. 
> 
> _if it's any consultation we're approximately half way through the story._
> 
> Jesus, I can't believe so many of you are still with me. So I just want to apologize and tell all you guys who are still with me that I love you guys. I really do. Without your support and encouragement I wouldn't be writing right now so I just want to say thank you too all of you who have read, kudo-ed, commented, and bookmarked Breaking the Fourth Wall and any other one of my stories. 
> 
> Your love keeps me writing.
> 
> _(So please send more of it . ^.0)_
> 
> With love,
> 
> Well me, Trixy.


	28. Ch 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Head ducked, arms shackled above her, she just kneels in the middle of the room, savoring the warmth of the beam of light that falls over her. Her clothes are tattered and torn, her hair is a matted mess, and blood stain almost every inch of her skin. It dribbles down her lips, both from split lips and taking one too many blows, and stains the wood beneath her a dark color._
> 
> _But the shiver that wracks her frame has nothing to do with fear._
> 
> **Important Author Note at the bottom, don't forget to read after the chapter!**

The hallways are empty. Void of any noise except for the sound of his footsteps on the tile floor. It echoes down the hall, announcing his movements to any that care to notice it. Not that he minds. He’s in no rush, or even trying to keep himself unnoticed.

He’s too busy to care about that at the moment. Nose buried in some paper he doesn’t even bother to see which way he’s going. He knows the halls well enough now to have no need to look. He roams these halls, the ones of the Monteriggioni Villa, with a familiarity born from constantly traipsing them.

At least constantly these days.

So he reads his papers, taking in the old Italian language with only the slightest bit of difficulty. He’s managing to learn it easily enough. Easier than he would have thought, all things considered. With only a few weeks of practice, he has learned enough to read Uncle Mario’s latest decryption of the codex pages.

And he is _not_ liking what they’re saying.

_Not at all._

_Twenty-fourth of April, 1478_

_Second Entry:_

_‘The floorboards creak under my feet. A soft, low creak that only highly trained ears can pick up. Thankfully, the ears on lookout are anything but highly trained, so the squeak of the floorboards go unnoticed as I creep across the room._

_The floor boards are flimsy. They have been hastily thrown together to resemble something only just considered a floor. There is gaps between the floorboards. Small and yet big enough for me to get a good view of the happenings of the floor below._

_And what I see is not good._

_I am in an attic. A very poorly built one, with holes in the roofing. They allow light to filter into the attic and down into the room below. Bright beams of lights shine into it and I makes sure to stay into the darker corners as I watch the scene below unfold._

_“Where is he?”_

_Abbas’ voice is unmistakable. It sounds clear across the room, ushering in an uneasy silence as he stalks into the room. The others in the room fall silent, awkwardly shuffling out of his way as he makes his way into the center of it._

_And she just kneels there._

_Jennifer._

_Head ducked, arms shackled above her, she just kneels in the middle of the room, savoring the warmth of the beam of light that falls over her. Her clothes are tattered and torn, her hair is a matted mess, and blood stain almost every inch of her skin. It dribbles down her lips, both from split lips and taking one too many blows, and stains the wood beneath her a dark color._

_But the shiver that wracks her frame has nothing to do with fear._

_It comes solely from soaking up the warmth of the sun as Abbas’ entrance rouses her from sleep. Slowly, she tilts her head back, tangled locks falling over her shoulders as she peers up at the man towering over her._

_“Oh,” she says, voice soft and low as she takes him in. “You’re back,” she mutters utter disinterest in her words as well as on her face as she slump backs onto her legs as much as her shackles will allow her. “Can I go now?”_

_The hand that connects with her cheek do not surprise her. She takes the blow easily, rolling with it and staying loose so that the damage done is less than it could have been. Still, it manages to reopen old cuts and blood dribbles from her lips heavily once more._

_“Where is he?” Abbas asks again, voice just bordering on a shout._

_She do not turn to look at him this time. Instead she just hangs her head, fight leaving her as the blow stuns her. Abbas take the opportunity to sink his hands into her hair and yank her back to face him. She focus on him with dazed eyes, face scrunched up with pain._

_“Where. Is. He?” Abbas growls out, words slow as he bends to bring their faces closer together. It is the wrong thing to do as she takes that chance to spit in his face, covering it with her blood. His hands connect with her cheek again, harder than before. “You will answer me.”_

_“How am I supposed to know?” she asks, limp in her restraints as she tries to shake off the blow. “When I’ve been stuck here this whole time,” she snarls, resolve not weakening in the face of Abbas’ anger despite all the pain she has already had to endure._

_“I’ve searched the whole city,” Abbas snarls back, face twisted in anger as he wipes the blood off his face. “My men have checked every nook and cranny of this godforsaken city and he has not turn up.”_

_“That sounds like a personal problem,” she snaps back, sarcasm in full force and it takes everything in me not to groan in frustration as the sarcasm only works to fuel Abbas’ anger. He hits her again._

_Flesh meets flesh with a loud crack. I use the noise to cover my footsteps as I inch towards the opening to the room below me. It is slow going. Getting to the opening seems to take forever and, as each blow sounds, it takes everything in me to keep my pace slow._

_I cannot let them know I am here. Not with Abbas so close to her, so I bide my time, waiting until he has grown tired of her sarcastic replies and leaves. All the while I choke back the anger and frustration and pain. I swallow it all, pushing it to the back of my mind and focusing only on the fact that I have to save her._

_Revenge can come later.’_

_Third Entry:_

_‘There is bodies littered around me. They lay scattered around the room, their blood cooling at my feet as I take in the carnage around me. Their all dead. All of them, except for one._

_Abbas._

_He leans against the wall, blood oozing sluggishly from his stomach as he slumps there. Yet there is a smile on his face. One that screams victory as he laughs out a breathy, deranged laugh. Even while on death’s door he finds a way to mock me. Through labored breathes and gasp and groans he announces his victory._

_“You could not save her.”_

_And he’s right._

_She lays slump in her restraints. The last for her blood dribbling to the floor. I go to her side, slowly. I keep my steps measured and controlled even while something deep inside of me screams in pain. It trashes and snarls and howls but I do not let it out._

_I keep it lock away as I undo the restrains on her arms and take her into mine. She falls limply into my chest. Without a noise or a move or even a breath. She is pale, skin waxy as all of her blood has been spilt onto the floor from the hole on her neck._

_She is gone._

_“How did you know where to find us?” I ask as I gather her into my arms. Even gone, I will not leave her here. I will not let her be just another corpse for the guards to find. She deserves more than that. So I will bring her home, one last time, to our family._

_“We had some help,” Abbas gasps out. The victorious smile is still there and like any champion, he cannot wait to tell me how he reached his victory. “A friend, very dear and near to you, told us all about your routes and favorite places to rest,” he says, breaths raspier now that death looms closer. “Told us where you would be resting on your trip home from Jerusalem._

_“I doubted him, you know,” he says around a cough that sends blood flying from his lips. “But we set the trap and, sure enough, there you were. With your poor little apprentice too. It was almost too easy.”_

_“Who was it?” I ask, anger burning hotter in my chest. It locks on to the possibility of a target. Of someone to blame for all this. Of someone still living to blame for Jennifer’s death._

_“Oh, just a broken hearted little fool,” he says, tone mocking despite that his eyes begin to glaze over. That the light, however malicious and evil, begins to leave them. “Who lost his love and wanted you to pay for it.”_

_“Odell.”’_

No, no, this is not good at all.

A deep, unsettling weight lodges itself in his stomach then. As he finishes reading the last of the entries, he bolts. He races down the hallway and up the grand stairs of the Auditore Villa. He takes the steps two at a time, ignoring Claudia’s surprised greeting, as he races up to Ezio’s room.

Throwing the door open, he doesn’t care that Ezio’s curled up in his bed, sound asleep. Instead he grabs the man, not realizing that this is probably the one person he shouldn’t startle awake. At least he doesn’t realize it until it’s too late.

It isn’t until he’s pinned against the bed, with Ezio laying over him that he realizes that this might not have been the best way to wake up an Assassin. Thankfully Ezio hasn’t killed him in his sleepy state, though the other man has a knife pressed against his throat. Where he got it, Ken doesn’t know nor does he care to ask. Though it probably came from under a pillow.

“They’re in trouble,” he says, when Ezio just peers down at him through half lidded eyes and says nothing. Ezio hums in confusion, eyes shifting to take in the room before returning back to him. The knife, though, stays right where it is, pressed against his throat.

If he wasn’t already panicking he would be now.

“Ken?” Ezio finally asks. Pulling the knife away and stowing it back under the pillow, Ezio looks at him with confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Jen and Altaïr are in trouble, Ezio,” Ken says, a new wave of panic hitting him as he says those words again. “We have to go help them.”

“Where?” Ezio asks as he begins to shake off the confusion and sleep clouding his mind. Rolling off of Ken, he lays back onto the bed and rubs his eyes. “Why are they in trouble? What’s going on?”

Instead of an answer, Ken just searches for the papers. They’re strewn across the bed and he hurriedly grabs them before shoving them in Ezio’s face. Still slightly asleep, it takes Ezio awhile to really make sense of the words.

Though, once he does, he shoots out of the bed and begins to pull on his clothes. Which Ken just realizes he _hadn’t_ been wearing. Any embarrassment that might have come is overshadowed by panic, of course. So Ken just scrambles off the bed after him and helps him gather his things.

“What should we do,” Ken asks as he helps buckle the straps of Ezio’s hidden blade.

“We need to go to Masyaf," Ezio says, a steely determination and something just bordering on anger in his voice. "We need to find Odell."

 ~oOo~

The steam raises from the water, wafting up towards the ceiling and fogging the small mirror in the room. The water sloshes, threatening to wet the floor as I climb into the tub. It never does splash on to the floor, instead it settles around me as I lay back in the tub and let the warm water soothe my aching muscles.

“I wish it were warmer,” I grumble as I sink deeper into the water, submerging myself until only the top portion of my face is above the water. I do it to try to escape that light breeze that comes in through the open window.

It’s a tiny thing, located high in the wall so no passerby can just peek in. It’s only purpose it to keep the room ventilated. Still, small as the window is, a good breeze manages to come through it, raising goosebumps across any portion of skin unlucky to be above water.

“It’s warm enough,” Altaïr says, unbothered by the breeze as he towels off the water on his skin. Having bathed first, he now looks to getting ready while I start my own bath.

Malik was right. There was no way both Altaïr and I would have been able to both squeeze into the tub. Though we had considered it before I had ushered Altaïr into the tub. Taking a seat in the stool next to him, I had taken the opportunity to start working through the knots in my hair as Altaïr had washed himself.

He had seem to fit in it well enough, though I must admit that my attention had not been on him then. Instead I had tackled undoing the knots without really paying him any mind. Though, now that it’s my turn in the tub, I wonder how he had even managed to fit. What with his taller frame since it's not even big enough for me to spread my legs. Instead I have to bend them, leaving a good portion of my legs to the mercy of the cold breeze wafting in.

It’s the cold breeze that makes the water seem colder than it is and I would tell Altaïr such if my mouth weren’t submerged and if I wasn’t so busy taking in the show.

Because a naked Altaïr toweling off is quite the show.

Even if it is just the back view.

Now that my hair is tangle free and soft from all the conditioner I poured into it, I can watch and enjoy the man before me. Because he is a man and a very good looking and well-built man at that. He’s all tan skin stretched over taunt muscles and that butt.

_Jesus._

I’m just lucky my mouth is under water so I won’t have to wipe away any drool.

Altaïr, for his part, says nothing about my ogling. Instead he just ignore my eyes on him as he finally wraps a towel over his waist. Hiding his more intimate parts from view he finally turns towards me. There’s no hiding the blush on my cheeks as but he doesn’t comment on it as he moves to take a seat on the stool. Instead he just begins to dry his hair.

“You should probably hurry before the water cools,” Altaïr warns as he peeks out from under the towel on his head. He’s hunched over, one elbow on his knee, hand dangling in the air as the other rubs the towel over his hair, drying it. He’s eyes though, are locked on me from under the towel. 

I don’t blush or rush to cover myself under the clear water as he looks at me. I feel no need too. Nothing in me is embarrassed or ashamed. A confidence I’ve never felt in me before settles over me as I lay there, naked in front him. I’m still comfortable with him, even like this, naked as the day I was born because this is the man I love.

I’ve accepted that a long time ago.

So instead I just sink further into the water with an unhappy grumble at the thought of having to leave the warmth of it. Though the need for air soon has me rising again. It’s then that I finally decided to get on with it and bathe.

Grabbing the lump of soap and the loofah I’d been smart enough to pack, I finally begin to scrub off the five days worth of grime and sweat I’ve managed to accumulate on the road. All of this happens under Altaïr’s watchful gaze, of course. At least I think it is.

I don’t bother to check if he is watching as I stand and scrub my body until it’s nice and sudsy. Once I’ve scrubbed every inch of skin until I feel that it can’t possibly get cleaner, I sink back into the water and begin to rinse the suds off.

It doesn’t seem to be the most effective way to take a bath. What with rising off with already dirty bath water but this is the medieval era and I’m just happy to finally be able to bathe. Once all the soap is rinsed away I stand again and take the towel Altaïr holds out for me.

“Thank you,” I mumble as I press a kiss to his cheek and step out of the tub. His hands go out to my waist then, helping me out of the tub. Though he lets go once I’m out so I can wrap the towel around myself.

“You’re welcome,” he says, returning the kiss on to the crown of my head as I step away from him and toward the mirror.

Wiping away the fog on the mirror, I turn my attention to brushing my teeth in the little sink under it. Though calling it a sink is a bit of a stretch. It’s more of a bucket with a hole at the bottom to drain out the water. Next to it is another bucket full of more crystal clear water that I use to rinse out my mouth.

Altaïr comes up behind me as I do. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me into him as I finish brushing me teeth. Eyes locking through the mirror, we stand like that for a long while. His arms stay around me, holding me close as I lean back into him.

I savor the feeling. I savor the warmth of his chest against my back and his arms around my waist. I savor the feeling of his breath against my neck as we watch each other through the mirror because he’s about to go on a very dangerous mission.

And, while I know the outcome, I still worry.

My presence here has already changed so much and, while it’s a bit of a stretch, I worry that it might also change the outcome of his mission. Not that I doubt Altaïr’s abilities, of course. It’s just the forces at work here, be it fate, Minerva, or anything else, seem to be able to change the fate of this universe at will.

_The future isn’t set in stone, after all._

So I worry and savor everything in this moment as Altaïr slowly turns me around, hands never leave my waist, and presses his lips to mine.

_Finally._

Somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice grumbles that of course our first real kiss would be soft and sweet and not the all-consuming, fire work show I’d day dreamed about on more than one occasion. And yet, as he pulls me closer and deepens the kiss, I find that I don’t mind.

My arms go around his neck without any conscious decision on my part. They just do, hands caressing the back of his neck as I all but melt into him. I don’t know when I close my eyes, having shut on their own, I don’t realize that they’ve closed until we pull away from each other.

We don’t go far from one another. Instead we stay no more than a hair’s breathe apart, arms still wrapped around each other as we open our eyes. They lock together instantly and I can’t keep the smile off my face as I kiss his lips again.

Deep down, I know I shouldn’t. I know I should push him away and tell him that we shouldn’t be doing this. I know I should be thinking about Maria and Darim and Sef and that I’m practically killing the boys. I’m dooming them to a fate of never being born. But I’m a selfish person.

I always have been. So I don’t think about them and I don’t push him away. Instead I take him into my arms and deepen this kiss until it’s nothing but tongue and teeth and that all-consuming passion I’d always hope for. The forbidden-ness of it all makes it all the sweeter as I feel my back being pushed up against a wall.

“Please do not defile my bathing room.”

Malik’s voice has us jumping apart. Hands clutching the towel still securely wrapped around me I struggle to slow my hammering heart. Altaïr for his part simply glower at the still close door. It’s even locked so how did he know what we were doing? We couldn’t have been that loud, could we?

“How?” I begin to wonder, cheeks burning as I turn towards my pack and begin to pull out a clean change of clothes. It lies forgotten by the door and I almost don’t want to go get it for fear that Malik might hear me. 

“The walls are thin,” Malik says from the other side of the door. “Now, please do here it up in there. Dinner is getting cold and I, for one, do not enjoy cold food.”

He walks away then, footsteps reaching us clear despite that the door really is closed all the way. It makes me wonder just how thin these walls actually are. As well as just what else he might have heard. Thank god neither of us had brought up the swirl situation. That would having been an all-around disaster and while this isn’t a good situation either, being heard getting busy with Altaïr is far better than being heard scheming.

“Now this is embarrassing. How am I supposed to face him again?” I grumble as I finally pull on some clothes. Turning back to Altaïr, I find him dressed too. Like fully dress. Cowl pulled up and everything. The only thing he doesn’t have on are his weapons. “You’re leaving so soon?”

“Yes,” he says as he straps his short blade to his back. “The sooner I finish this, the sooner we can go home,” he says with such determination that I can tell that that’s his driving force. That that’s what keeps him going.

So far away from Masyaf and a social outcast to his people, that’s the thought that keeps him fighting.

_Coming home._

He’s been demoted after. After the cluster fuck that was the mission to retrieve the apple, those that aren’t mad at him for bring Robert de Sable and his man down on them, shun him for breaking their creed. I don’t think even Odell has been speaking to him.

But, then again, that’s a whole separate cluster fuck to deal with.

And then there’s us. My family and me, who have welcomed him with open arms and unhidden excitement when no one else so much as speaks to him. It’s no wonder he races back home to us as quick as he can. It’ll get better though.

As the weeks pass and he rises in ranks, he’ll earn the respect and admiration of his people again. He’ll become their leader in just a few weeks. In just over a month and it’ll be tough going. None of it will be easy, especially the whole having to kill his mentor part. So it warms my heart to know that he has us.

And we’ll be here for him, through thick and thin.

“Just don’t get yourself hurt,” I warn him as I move to help him strap on his hidden blade. Taking the straps into my hands, I buckle them for him as I lean up to place a kiss to his lips. “Though I hope I might be able to convince you to take a quick nap before you go.”

“Mmm,” he hums against my lips, following them with his own as I pull away. “I can be convinced.”

“Good,” I tell him as I step away from him and pick up our dirty clothes from the floor. “Cause we both know you can use a nap before you go out there and kick ass,” I tell him, earning a barely there smile from him as he takes the clothes and shove them in our packs.

With a mental promise to myself to give those a thorough washing before we leave, I let Altaïr usher me out the bathing room and into the dining room.

It takes a lot not to hide behind Altaïr when we walk into the dining room. The embarrassment from earlier comes back tenfold but I hold my head up high as I scurry to my seat. Malik, for his part, is already seated at the head of the table, a stern look on his face as he waits for us.

“You did not have to wait for us,” Altaïr says, voice blank as he sits on the opposite end of the table. There’s no emotion to his words. It’s just a blank statement of a fact and yet it manages to ruffle Malik feathers.

His face twists, unbridled fury twisting his features, as he snaps, “Unlike you, _I_ was raised with manners.”

“Really? I am still waiting for the day I will see those so called manners of yours,” Altaïr says no doubt not thinking before he speaks as his eyes go wide the second the words leave his lips. “Malik—,” he rushes to apologize but it’s too late.

Malik pushes away from the table without a word. Storming away, he leaves, but not before slamming some random door on his out. I think it was the one to his room but I could be wrong.

“That was mean,” I tell Altaïr, a disapproving frown on my lips. Altaïr just hangs his head in shame, already regretting the words he’s said and no doubt wishing he could take them back. Malik’s already hurting enough, after all.

There’s no need to make it worse.

“Come on,” I tell Altaïr, coaxing him out of the chair. Turning away from the food laid out in front of us, I usher Altaïr out of the dining and into the Bureau entrance. “Let’s get some rest,” I tell him as I lead him towards the pile of pillows.

He lays on the pillows easily enough, pulling me with him as he goes. I let him pull me, folding myself into his arms as they go to wrap around me. The pillows turn out not to be as soft as they first seemed. It takes some maneuvering to get comfortable. We end up with his head on my chest and one arm thrown around my waist as I run my hands through his hair.

We say nothing as we lay there, both lost in our own thoughts as sleep slowly creeps up to take us. As I star up at the sky through the metal gates, I can feel my eyes lids getting heavy. Each blink gets longer. Still I will my eyes opens just long enough to feel Altaïr go limp. Just long enough to know he’s finally dropped off to sleep before I let sleep take me too.

The voices start not too long after.

They’re whispers on the wind. Faint little things that only clear up the deeper I fall into sleep’s embrace. Soon they become clearer though. The whispers take shape and meaning and I can make out the individual words. It all stays dark though.

There’s no lights or Minerva or anything.

Only whispers.

_“…Wrong…this…wrong…”_

_“No…no…NO! Don’t….in….Minerva!”_

_“Aphrodite…have…done?”_

_“Sssh…she’s listening…”_

I wake before I can make out complete sentences. My eyes fly open of their own accord, taking in the still dark skies. It could have been no more than an hour since I fell asleep and yet the pillows beside me are empty.

Altaïr is gone.

He’s off to complete his mission and the pillows don’t feel nearly as comfortable as they once had with him now gone. It’s cold now. Way too cold to sleep comfortably, so I stand from the pillows and head inside in the hopes of finding an empty bed to sleep on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! 
> 
> How've you been? 
> 
> It's been two months but look! There's no cliffhanger this time. At least not really. Now! Before anyone get's too excited about that **Aphrodite** tidbit, let me just explain that it's just a bit of a set up for an Alternate Universe I cooked up with the help of my bestie, [AlexC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexC/pseuds/AlexC) _(check out her work, she's amazing)_.
> 
> Alternate Universe isn't quiet the right word to use to this describe this story because it'll be fully linked to the story. Everyone will still be involved and what not but it has no effect on the actual main plot. Am I making any sense? Basically, in this story we will be branching off from the main plot for a bit before snapping back on. You won't need to read it to know what's going on. It'll never be mentioned here. But it will have happened at one point. 
> 
> _I think the word I'm looking for here is Filler_
> 
> As for what the AU will be about. Well, it doesn't have a name yet but it has a plot and half of a Chapter One. It's going about Jen, Ken, Ezio, and Altaïr, of course. Them and a Templar run Utopia _(Please note that the author uses the word Utopia in a purely sarcastic reference)_. Basically it's just a chance for me to practice a bit of world building and mess with our beloved Characters a bit more. 
> 
> As for when it'll be coming out, well it'll probably be after I name it and have at least three chapters on it. Still, it might be until after I finish this one so this gives us all something to look forward to doesn't it?
> 
> _I wonder how many of you actually read these notes?_

**Author's Note:**

>  **Now Beta-ed by:**  
>  [Macadamians](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Macadamians/pseuds/Macadamians)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Breaking the Fourth Wall (Story Art)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6018439) by [Trixy_BuenaSuerte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixy_BuenaSuerte/pseuds/Trixy_BuenaSuerte)




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